


The Sticking Place

by Escalus



Series: Strike The Sun [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Six months after the end ofStrike the Sun, the McCall pack is happy and healthy.  Jackson has graduated high school, he's mended his relationship with his parents, he's more than content with the bond he has with his alpha, he has a wonderful sister, he has friends, and, above all, he has a wonderful boyfriend in Stiles. He wants to enjoy what he has for as long as he can.  But the horrific designs of the Dread Doctors and the nefarious schemes of Theo Raeken might destroy everything he's worked so hard to achieve.





	1. Creatures of the Night (Part 1: You'll Find Out When You Find Out)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an homage to Teen Wolf and for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> You don't have to read the first part of the series, but you may be surprised at some changes.

 

**Macbeth:**  


If we should fail?  


 

**Lady Macbeth:**  


We fail?  


But screw your courage to The Sticking Place,  


And we'll not fail.  


_**Macbeth Act 1, scene 7, 59–61** _

Jackson reclined on the hood of the jeep, his back resting on the remarkably comfortable windshield. He might have tried to take a nap if the moon, minutes from its zenith, hadn't been burning through his veins. Eyes closed, he still managed to enjoy the way the downdraft from the approaching storm played across his skin and the sharp scent of the ozone in the night air. The thunderhead, in all its unmatched power, transformed the Preserve into something wild and new.

“All right, so I found a couple of cool two bedrooms in the Mission District, but they’re pretty expensive.”

Stiles’ voice broke through his reverie. Jackson reluctantly opened his eyes, bringing him back to the mundane world filled with mundane concerns. Scott sat next to him next on the hood of the jeep, their legs touching casually. The alpha was leaning slightly forward, watching where the moon should have been if the sky hadn’t been filled with dark cumulonimbus clouds. While his best friend must have been aware of Stiles' monlogue, Scott’s mind was clearly focused elsewhere.

“What are you talking about, Stiles?” Jackson let crabbiness slip into his voice. 

“I’m talking about the Vision!” Stiles spread a map of the San Francisco area across Jackson’s legs in response. “You have to know about it, unless you weren’t listening the other ten times I’ve explained it to you ... in detail.” 

A defeated sound arose from Jackson’s throat. 

“Don’t sigh at me, punk.” Stiles tapped the map with his pen. “We’re going to need to find a central location for our headquarters while we’re at college. No one wants to spend half of every weekend figuring out where we’re all going to meet up. Now I know that Lydia’s going to have no trouble getting into Stanford, Kira’s looking at USF, and Malia … she’ll figure something out.”

Jackson closed his eyes once more. “Sometimes I can’t believe you.”

“Maybe we should wait until all of us have actually graduated high school before planning what we’ll do in college,” Scott offered, trying to get between them. Once Jackson and Stiles started on their faux bickering routine, they could go on for hours. Jackson didn't blame Scott for trying to cut it off before it began; while he enjoyed it, he didn't imagine anyone else would.

“I have a vision, dudes, okay? My best friend and my boyfriend should believe in my vision. That’s all I’m saying.”

Part of him wanted to lean back and recapture the euphoria of the moon, but Jackson knew he shouldn’t. Instead, he folded up the map and then pushed himself off the hood, landing next to Stiles. In one smooth motion, he tried to pull Stiles into an embrace. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

Instead of allowing himself to be gathered up, Stiles pushed his boyfriend away rewarding him with a scowl.

“What?” A sniff revealed that Stiles was actually angry. Jackson was shocked by this. They always poked at each other.

“I …” Stiles opened his mouth to begin what might have been a tirade, but then he looked away. “Nothing. I just think preparation is better than waiting until the last minute.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment but then let it go. Something big was bothering Stiles, and Jackson thought about dragging it out of him, but in the months they’ve been together, he’d learned that Stiles didn’t like being put on the spot when it came to his feelings. If Jackson tried to force him to talk about it, Stiles might lie or worse, he’d get even angrier. The best move was to change the topic in accordance with Stiles’ wishes.

“You know money isn’t going to be a problem, as long as you leave this hunk of junk behind. I don’t think I could even afford to keep it up.”

Stiles mugged a double take. “I will never leave the jeep behind. Ever. Get used to it, because no one gets left behind.”

“It’s a thing, not a person. Though I suppose anyone can get used to an eyesore eventually.”

Stiles stepped back closer to Jackson, and this time the shove was playful and the smile was genuine. “Snob.”

“Guilty as charged.”

They kissed then. It was nothing grand nor passionate, but for both of them … well, let’s just say that neither of them ever imagined kissing another human being so casually, so _easily._ As if it meant nothing and everything at the same time. When they broke apart, it was somewhat bashfully, though no one else present had even commented on it.

Scott had been sitting right next to them, but he hadn’t said anything. After all, the alpha usually remained quiet during their play-squabbles, content to smile at the couple. But this time, his gaze had drifted back to the approaching storm; Scott might not even have been aware of their kiss. 

Jackson studied the alpha. His senses told him that Scott wasn’t upset, but Jackson could sense wariness and melancholy. 

“You starting to feel it?” Stiles asked, his usual curiosity evident. Stiles didn’t feel the moon’s pull the same way they did; he couldn’t sense emotions the way werewolves could. It bothered Stiles sometimes that he’d never feel what his best friend and his boyfriend felt. Jackson could have told him that Stiles still understood the alpha better than anyone else. 

“No. I was thinking of something Deaton once told me. Regression to the mean.”

“Oh, boy,” Jackson groused. He liked Deaton -- the man has saved their lives more than once -- but Scott had a tendency to put so much value on his words that he often parroted what the veterinarian had said without question. 

Scott explained that the phrase meant events tended to fluctuate around a central point — a point which others would call normal life. Sometimes life would be great, but that couldn’t last, and sometimes life would be terrible, but that couldn’t last either. Eventually, no matter how extreme things got, they would move back to the center until the cycle was ready to begin again.

“So you’re worried about the start of the semester?” Jackson thought that it was a good guess. 

“Yeah. You can’t blame me — every time a semester starts something terrible starts with it. With this being senior year — sorry, _my_ senior year — I’m hoping that whatever is coming is going to be something really good.” 

“But given our luck,” Stiles pointed out, “It’s going to something really bad: Republican were-elephants most likely.” 

Jackson chuckled. It wasn’t Stiles’ best effort, but part of his Boyfriend Duties was laughing at every attempt at a joke. 

“Do you think it’s been enough time?”

“Yes!” griped Liam from where he was tied to the tree.

The three of them ambled over to the tree where the youngest beta was tied up. Jackson and Scott had been persuaded that this confinement was for Liam’s own good. Jackson still wasn’t sure but Stiles had convinced them that they needed to encourage Liam to call one of them if he felt he was having trouble controlling the shift on the full moons instead of … well, what he had done. 

Jackson held himself back as Scott and Stiles performed the Scott-and-Stiles show with Liam. He didn’t feel like he had any right to pile on the younger boy about this, considering the mess he had made during the first months of his initial transformation. Though, secretly, he didn’t like how his friends approached Liam’s control issues.

Yeah, Stiles was right to be concerned about the long-term effects of continued werewolf sightings. There was only so much a town could ignore before there would be a reaction, and it wouldn’t be good. Yet, tying him to a tree long before the moon was truly full wasn’t helpful; instead, it was humiliating.

And Scott must have caught the scent of blood coming from Liam’s hands, just as Jackson did, but Scott wouldn’t say anything. No matter how many times Scott had been told that he had a good relationship with Liam, he still opted for only the lightest of touches when it came to discipline. No matter how much events should have proved to Scott that he wasn’t Peter or Derek or Rafael, part of him shied away from demanding things of his beta.

Sometimes taking a firm hand with someone in your care wasn’t tyranny. Sometimes it was what they both needed and wanted, and a refusal to do so might not appear as respect for autonomy but instead as neglect and impotence. Jackson could see it in Liam’s eyes the way he used to see it in his own. The beta hated failing, but he didn’t want sympathy. He wanted to get better. 

Still, Jackson thought, it wasn’t the worst mistake a pack could make. He didn’t see anything bad coming from it.

**~*~**

It was nearly ten thirty before Jackson made it home. He had plenty of time even with the jeep breaking down; Senior Scribe officially started at midnight. Though as much as Stiles loved that thirty-two year old clunker, he didn’t seem to take much care of it, and it needed a lot of care. Jackson had mentioned car maintenance several times over the last six months that they had been together, and Stiles had acted offended each time at the implication that he wasn’t being the most responsible owner. Yet no maintenance had been done.

Jackson, on the other hand, was a Car Guy. He handled the maintenance on his Porsche all by himself now, regardless of what he had once told Chris Argent. Yeah, it would probably have been wiser for him to take it to the shop, but he had discovered that it wasn’t nearly enough fun.

So when the jeep broke down on the way to drop Jackson off at his house, he didn’t say anything to Stiles, though he was pretty pissed off. Tonight would be important for his boyfriend. A fight between them would ruin the evening, and he wanted Stiles’ Senior Scribe to be perfect.

Instead, he was going to pop in, say hello to his parents, and then drive quickly over to Mr. Tate’s church to pick up Malia. It didn’t work out as planned.

“Jackson!” 

His father was sitting in the living room. While David Whittemore was far more mobile after six months of recovery, and he was now able to go to work once more, he still needed to make sure he didn’t press himself too hard. He still required physical therapy, but his improvement had been steady. In addition, his father now ate more self-consciously, exercised regularly, and reduced the amount of stress he had in his life. 

Yet, the tone of his father’s call sounded stressful. Jackson poked his head into the room. 

“What are you still doing up?”

“I waited up for you.”

He took a full step into the room. “Something wrong, Dad?”

“I think that’s what I wanted to ask you. Can you sit?”

“I don’t think I can. I’ve got to go pick up Malia to take her to the Senior Scribe. I said I would.” 

David frowned. “Well, could you humor me? If I remember correctly, this thing doesn’t start until midnight. You can give me a few minutes at least.”

Jackson started to say no, but then he changed his mind. He walked over and sat across from his father. “What’s up?”

His fathered started at him quietly, smoothing his pants with one hand. Jackson had picked up on his father’s tell a long time ago. David wanted to bring something up with Jackson but he didn’t want to have a fight, especially since things had thawed between after the horrible business of last year. It was just unfortunate that their confrontations frequently happened when supernatural troubles made it look like Jackson was being irrational, and his parents had a right to be concerned.

Jackson was never going to tell his weak-hearted father that he was a werewolf in a werewolf pack which served as guardians of a town with an active Nemeton. The werewolf news might be enough to kill him. If Jackson revealed all the details of the last few years, and it would absolutely kill him. He preferred to let his parents think he was still having emotional problems due to his adoption. It was safer for everyone.

After a few minutes of silence, Jackson shifted in his seat. He heard a sigh from behind him, as his mother came into the room. She had three glasses with what looked like white zinfandel in them. David’s doctor recommended drinking wine in moderation to help with his heart. “For God’s sake, David, spit it out. Jackson’s not going to take it badly.” She put the wine in front of each of them.

“Your mother and I.” David looked at Helen who rolled her eyes. “Your mother and I are worried that since you graduated high school in June …”

“I know. I was there.” Jackson had picked up a few things from Stiles when it came to avoiding conversations. He didn’t want to talk about this.

David looked helpless. Helen put in. “Drink your wine. Jackson, we want to know if you’ve made any plans.”

“No.” 

Both of his parents looked at each other. Finally, David said carefully, gingerly. “Perhaps it might be time that you do?”

Jackson took the wine and downed it. It wouldn’t affect him. This was definitely a conversation that he didn’t want to have. 

“Are you saying you want me to move out?”

“We didn’t say that,” Helen protested.

“That’s not what we’re trying to do, son. We’re just curious, that’s all.”

Now it was Jackson’s turn to stare at the wall. He could feel irritation building up beneath his skin. He could feel the urge to lash out, to say something hurtful and cruel. But his parents didn’t deserve to be treated like that, especially not by him. Yet, he had to say something.

“What would you suggest?”

That was not a tactic his parents were expecting. It startled them and they looked at each other. While they struggled, Jackson looked at the clock on the wall — it was almost a quarter until eleven. The hands of the clock moved slowly — far too slowly.

Helen finally broke the impasse. She had always been braver than his father. “We both believe that college is an option.”

“With my grades?”

“Your grades are fine. You have a B+ average.” Helen clucked her tongue. 

“That’s …“ Jackson trailed off. He wasn’t like that anymore. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. He didn’t need to prove himself to himself. He had overcome things other people couldn’t even imagine. 

Yet, the problem with habits, one of his therapists had told him, even bad habits, even destructive habits, was that in the end, they were safe. They were comfortable. When you didn’t know what to do, your habits were waiting for you like old friends. 

“I know.” He said lamely. 

“Have you been thinking of a career that might interest you?” David asked, still as tender as a doctor trying to figure out where the pain was coming from in his patient. 

Jackson chuffed. His father thought he was so clever at hiding things, but Deucalion with a potato sack over his head could see that David wanted him to be a lawyer just like him. 

Jackson Whittemore, Esquire. It did sound impressive.

“No,” he said instead, because it was the truth.

“Well, it’s okay for young people not to be sure of the path they want to take in life. But we’ll be more than happy to sit down and go over the different ideas you might have in terms of a career.” Helen took a sip of her wine. “We know it’s not easy.”

Jackson stood up. “Well, I’ve got to be going if I want to pick up Malia.”

He strode to the doors to leave the house. He put his hand on the doorknob, but he couldn’t leave thing this way. He had grown up … at least a little bit.

“Mom. Dad.” 

They were still sitting in the living room, looking up at him. They weren’t being terrible; they were being concerned. He was done punishing them for being good parents. 

“I don’t have an answer for what you want to know.” He took a deep breath. “Everything is so good now. We’re good. My friends and I are good. I’m good. I’m happy. And that took time and it took work, fixing all the bullshit from my past — sorry, Mom.” Helen hated it when he cussed. “I know that things are going to change, because … they have to. But, right now, I just want to … be here. I don’t want to look at what’s next.”

He looked away and opened the door. 

“We’ll talk later. I gotta go.”

**~*~**

The Porsche pulled into the parking lot in front of the Unitarian Universalist Church. Jackson took a deep breath; he felt better having put some distance between himself and his parents. He loved them; he did. But … he didn’t want to think about things like that. Not tonight, of all nights.

The storm that had roared through earlier had knocked trees down all over the city. One big tree seemed to have fallen right in the middle of the church parking lot. Malia and her father were standing next to it as the church parking lot emptied of the last few cars. Jackson had no trouble getting in.

His sharp ears picked up Henry Tate’s voice. He sounded worried. “I want you to be more careful.”

Malia crossed her arms in annoyance. Jackson knew that posture.

“No one believed you when you said you had strong enough legs to lift that tree by yourself. They may not know exactly why, but they have to suspect that you’re stronger than you have any right to be.”

“What’s wrong with being stronger?”

“Nothing’s wrong with that, honey. Nothing is wrong with you at all.” Henry took her in his arms to show that he meant it. “I said I’m not mad. But people can do stupid things when they’re upset or they’re scared.” 

Malia stepped away and out of his embrace. 

“I did stupid things when I was scared,” Henry whispered to her. “You’re my daughter, and I want you safe. Can you try, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad.” 

Jackson opened up the car door. “Malia!”

Both of them walked over to the door. 

“Jackson,” Mr. Tate looked confused. “I thought you graduated last year.”

“I did. I’m taking Malia to the Scribe. She’d probably could have gotten a ride with Stiles, but why subject her to subpar transport.”

Mr. Tate smiled in response, as Malia jumped into the passenger’s seat. She loved riding into the Porsche. “Be home by two!”

“One o’clock!”

“One thirty!” This was the time they had actually been planning to be home.

“Alright. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Jackson pulled away from the man and down onto the street. Malia stared out the window for a good five minutes before she finally relaxed. 

“He doesn’t get it.”

“Who doesn’t get what?”

“My dad. He tries really hard, but he doesn’t get that I don’t think like him. Or like anyone he knows. He doesn’t get it that it doesn’t bother me — that I don’t want to think like anyone else. How much does it matter how the stupid tree got moved if, in the end, it got moved!”

Jackson bit his lip. Malia wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot, but certain things frustrated her about being a werecreature living in the middle of human civilization. To be perfectly fair, Jackson could oftentimes see her point.

“Hmmm,” he said, intelligently, in lieu of not saying anything. 

“No one can prove that I lifted the tree by myself. They can think it all they want, but no one had any cameras.” She was arguing out loud. 

“Are you trying to convince me?”

“No.”

“Are you trying to convince yourself?”

“No.” Her brows came together in disdain, but then she frowned and looked back toward the window. “Maybe.”

“Your dad wants you to be safe. He lost you, and he thought he lost you forever, and so he’s going to be a little … overly cautious.”

Malia still looked out the window. “It’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” 

“I was born this way. I’m faster, stronger, and I heal quicker than humans, sure, but they don’t have to worry about the moon or anything like that. If I can lift the tree so everyone can go home quicker, why not lift the tree? I’m not sure that I want to live in a world where I have to hide what I am all the time.”

“Well, you don’t have much choice, do you?”

“Maybe I do.”

Jackson looked shocked. She wasn’t talking about living as a coyote again, was she? She must have sense his discomfort, but she snorted. 

“I couldn’t go back if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. But there are other ways to live without having to hide from people who don’t understand, isn’t there?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a world out there that doesn’t play by my Dad’s rules or the rules of Principal Thomas or the rules of the lady who stares at me whenever I go into the grocery store. It’s the world where Derek and Braeden live, where people like my mother live.”

Jackson did not grimace. He tried to not let any reaction show on his face. He had not told Malia that he had met her mother, and that he had hoped he had arranged for her lengthy prison stay. “You’re … still looking for her?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You said … what you’ve said is that she’s not a nice person.”

“She’s not. She’s a professional criminal. But that means she doesn’t have to hide who she is. She calls herself the Desert Wolf.” Malia ruminated. “People who live in that world will like if I’m strong. They’ll like that I can fight. They won’t worry about silly things like …” His sister trailed off.

“Like what grade you’re in?”

Malia shot him a look that was not particularly friendly, but she didn’t correct him. 

“Look, you worked hard as you could, and if you have to repeat junior year — it’s not the end of the world.”

“So Dad said. So you say — but you’ve graduated.”

Jackson shrugged. It wasn’t as cool as it sounded. “And you might not graduate with Scott and Stiles and Lydia. So instead you want to join the supernatural underworld?” 

“I want,” she snapped, “to not feel like I’m going to spend my life making up for things that can’t be changed.”

Malia clenched her firsts and shook her head. She rarely let her frustration out like this, but he suspected they never really left her. When Malia did talk about them, she chose to confide those frustrations in Stiles, not in him. Jackson wished they were close enough so that she didn’t worry about offending him. 

“I don’t think you quite understand how far you’ve come in a little under ten months. If people knew your whole story, they’d be surprised there was even a chance of you getting to be a senior this year!” 

He had meant it as a compliment, but that’s not how she took it. She growled at him. 

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t. It’s like you expect me to be the wolf girl in all those old National Enquirers.”

“Where the hell did you get … Stiles.”

“He thought it would be funny.”

Jackson snorted. “It’s not funny. And I don’t expect you to be anyone else but you, to learn at your own rate and succeed at your own rate. Schools suck because they have to suck. They have to have standards that simply don’t apply to everyone, but they don’t … every person is different.”

“Which is why you aren’t going to college.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“You’re not ready.” She scorned that excuse.

“I don’t want to.” Now it was Jackson’s turn to snap. “Look, if you have to repeat junior year, it’s not going to be a big deal — you’ve already done so much.”

“And if I say I don’t want to do it?”

Jackson pulled into the high school parking lot. He didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t want Malia running after her mother.

“There’s Stiles. I don’t want to do this if I’m not going to be an actual senior.”

“They told you they’d text you, right? Be patient.” 

Jackson and Malia get out to where Stiles is waiting rather impatiently for them.

“Well, at least you guys made it on time!”


	2. Creatures of the Night (Part 2: There Are Other Ways to Get to the Details)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson meets with the others for the Senior Scribe and manages to meet a few new people as well.

Sheets of rain lashed the pavement of the school parking lot as Jackson and Malia pulled in. The storm had been hammering Beacon Hills with its full fury for the last half-hour, and all the students showing up for the Senior Scribe rushed into the building. One student’s umbrella turned inside out just before reaching the entrance, dousing her and her friends with water. 

In comparison, Stiles was waiting — if his fidgety, back-and-forth, frustrated pacing could be considered waiting — for them under the covered walkway at the south entrance to the school. Every once in a while, a gust of wind would blow the rain up under the awning forcing him to retreat within the double doors. From the look of his clothing, he had managed, so far, to remain mostly dry. After Jackson pointed him out to Malia, they Malia sprinted from the Porsche to where he was standing.

“Why aren’t you inside?” Jackson dashed the water off his face with one hand while looking back out at the unrelenting clouds. “You know we’d find you.”

“Have you heard anything?” Stiles demanded sharply instead of answering the question. When Jackson took a step towards him, Stiles scuttled away unconsciously.

“Heard what?” Jackson scrunched up his face.

“Anything! From anyone!”

“Nothing from Scott or Kira,” Malia held up her phone to show her history. 

“I haven’t gotten anything from Lydia either.” Stiles shoulders bunched up under tension and he swung his arms to shake them loose.

Jackson snorted. Stiles really was adorable when he was impatient. “Calm down. There’s plenty of time before this thing gets started.”

Instead of shooting back with something witty as Jackson expected, Stiles just glared at him and took another step away. Under the awning, the three of them could listen to the rain pounding out a rhythm on the aluminum. Jackson couldn’t help but sniff both of them; his boyfriend and his sister were both anxious. Really, really anxious. Jackson watched Malia studying the other students approaching the school. She frowned, her eyes following their every move.

“Malia,” Jackson began.

“I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this if I’m not going to be a senior.” She pulled out her phone once again after she had a moment ago put it away.

Stiles grunted, barely paying attention to her. His eyes were locked on his own phone.

Jackson stood there, a little helpless in the midst of the emotional turmoil, as they remained glued to their phones. Several times Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t want to interrupt their frantic staring at tiny little screens. Time inched past slowly, the way it always did when things were uncomfortable. Arriving students had now become a steady stream.

“You guys realize that this is supposed to be fun.” He finally complained.

Stiles grunted once again.

“I’ll have fun when I know if I passed or not.” Malia spoke in clipped tones, but at least she had used words.

Jackson took a long, deep, exaggerated sigh. And then another. He glanced over his shoulder at the people who were still utterly ignoring him. 

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you, Stiles? I know what’s wrong with Malia. I tried to talk her through it but she’s being stubborn about it.”

Malia flipped him off.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.” 

“What?” Stiles seemed offended.

“Jackson can smell you just as much as I can.”

“Smelling me?” Stiles sniffed at this own armpits and Jackson rolled his eyes. “I smell fine.”

Malia and Jackson hit Stiles with coordinated eye-rolls.

“You know one of these days either one or both of you are going to do that once too often and you’ll go blind … okay, all right, it’s anxiety. You should be used to it by now.”

“I am _used_ to it,” Jackson answered. “But this isn’t your normal level of anxiety. That concerns me, and it’s my privilege to be concerned.”

The admission of privilege almost made Stiles perk up, but almost only counts in horseshoes.

“I was talking to my father the other day. About graduation and college and stuff.”

Jackson thought back to his recent discussion with his parents.

Stiles gesticulated toward the school as if proving his point. “He went here, just like we did. He had friends at this school, just like we did. He played basketball — not very well. He went to dances. I asked him all about the things he did. Of course, it wasn’t anything like our time here — he wasn’t chased by feral alphas through the locker room — but there was a lot of things in common. He told me that he and his friends had all looked forward to graduating, and I admitted that I hadn’t even thought about it.”

Malia chuckled. 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into it. The Vision?” Jackson put in.

“Yeah, yeah. Kinda. Sorta. Anyway, so I asked him about what his high school friends were doing now. And he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could you not know what your friends were doing?”

“I guess they aren’t friends anymore.” 

“Exactly!” Stiles threw both arms out at Malia. “They aren’t friends anymore. And I asked him why, because I wanted to know. And … he couldn’t tell me. He said that they just grew apart.”

“Well, doesn’t that happen sometimes?”

Stiles sputtered. “People aren’t plants. Things happen in our lives because we make decisions. Conscious decisions. We have _conscious-ness._ ”

“I think that what your father meant is that they pursued different goals in different places, and what was different became more important than what was the same.”

“I know what he meant, _Jackson,_ ” Stiles grimaced in frustration. “I’m saying that it’s a cop out. It only happens because we let it happen. If I’ve already met the best people in my life, shouldn’t I be doing everything I can to keep them?”

Jackson and Malia hummed in unison.

“I mean, what if Scott’s my best friend now, but he’s not my best friend forever. I know, I know, it sounds a bit My Little Pony, but it’s true, isn’t it? There’s a possibility that … for some reason, we won’t be friends anymore.”

“That’s why you have the dream-thingy,” Malia pointed out. 

“The Vision. Don’t mock the Vision!”

“I’m not mocking it. I like the Vision, especially if I’m a part of it.” Malia gave Stiles a hug and then pushed him over to Jackson. “Now, go spend time with your boyfriend and stop being so much a downer. I’m going to go back to staring at my phone.”

“So that’s why you’re acting so worried?” Jackson took Stiles into his arms, and while he didn’t fight it, Stiles didn’t relax into it. He still held himself tight, as if Stiles was waiting for something to go wrong. “You _are_ that worried.”

“Yeah.” Stiles chewed on the base of his thumb. “It doesn’t help that I know I’m being silly.”

“Hey! You’re not being silly. You might be acting … a little premature.”

Stile looked out into the storm as if he could conjure Scott to appear. Jackson ran his hand up Stiles arm, but he still couldn’t get him to relax.

“Remember when we first started seeing each other, and I was weirded out by how close you were to Scott?”

“I do. You’re closer to him though than I am, you know that.”

“I _know._ I was employing a euphemism for the animalistic sex you guys have from time to time.” Stiles made it sound like a joke. 

Jackson put his hand on his cheek. “Haven’t I demonstrated how _much closer_ I am to you?”

“Many different times, in many different positions, but this time … it’s not about you. I know that’s hard for you to hear, Jackson.”

“Ha. Ha. So, who is it about?”

“Scott. Or, rather, me and Scott.” Stiles looked him in the eyes. “I’ve told you about how it used to be.”

“Yes.” Jackson counted down to ten in his mind. This was an old burden that Stiles refused to put down. It was a bad habit that made Stiles feel down about himself, but Jackson had his own bad habits as well. He was going to accept that this part of how Stiles operated; he was going to refrain from telling Stiles how he should feel. 

“We’re not as close. Look, I don’t mean we don’t talk or we don’t hang out and shoot the shit. But I’m not the most important thing in his life short of his mother anymore, and … and he’s not the most important thing in my life short of my father anymore.” 

“Can I be a little egocentric and hope that I’ve nudged him out of the top spot?”

“Yes, you big dumb ex-lizard.” Stiles finally relaxed a bit. “But, it’s like … you’re sitting on a couch with your legs up under you and you’re so focused on watching the television or doing your homework that you don’t realize your leg’s fallen asleep until you try to move it. Then suddenly, hey, my leg’s asleep!”

“I … okay, I’m not following.”

“The second week of June. The last week of July.”

“Still not following.”

“That week, from Sunday until the next Sunday, I didn’t talk to Scott, and he didn’t talk to me.”

“Okay, slow down there, partner. The second week of June you and I went to Reno for the week. You remember?’

“Of course, I remember. I put up with many days of hickey jokes from my dad. He’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.” 

“And half of that last week of July was when Scott, Liam, and I went on a retreat with Satomi.” 

“Yeah.”

“So?”

Stiles sighed in exasperation. “You don’t get it. It’s not just that I didn’t talk to Scott for a week, it’s that it didn’t bother us. Either of us. It’s that when Scott came back from the retreat, you were the first person who told me about it, not him.” 

Jackson nodded. He understood.

“We’re already growing apart and when he was talking about regression to the mean …”

“You’re worried. And that’s why you want to make sure everyone comes here for the Senior Scribe.”

“I … I love you, Jax. I do. I care about all my friends. But Scott … he’s different. He’s really important to me, and if a lazy summer with no savage supernatural monsters can get between me and him, what … what hope do I have about this when things get serious? I don’t want to lose him. He’s my brother.”

Jackson sucked on his teeth.

“Now, tell me I’m being paranoid.”

“I would never do that,” Jackson promised. _I know better._

Stiles gave Jackson a quick squeeze and then broke apart to check his phone. “Oh. I missed it. How did I miss it? Scott picked up Kira and they should be here by now. Where could they be?”

Malia rejoined them. “Someone’s coming. Fast.”

It turned out to be Liam who was running so fast he nearly bowled them over. “Scott’s in trouble!”

“That’s helpful, shrimp.” Jackson shook Liam by the shoulder. “How is he in trouble?”

“Parrish got attacked by this werewolf thing with blue glowing claws that sucked out his life force!”

Now, it was Stiles’ turn. “How do you know this? And why does that make Scott in trouble?”

Liam’s excited but thoroughly garbled transmission of what he overheard the Sheriff, Melissa, and Parrish talking about. Stiles conducts the interview the way only Stiles can do when he’s focused. A strange werewolf attacked and significantly hurt Parrish, is looking for Scott, and apparently may be seeking to take the Alpha spark from him. 

“We have to find Scott and Kira now.”

Jackson is already working on that. The rain obscured any scent there could possibly be and the pounding on the awning was making it hard to hear, so he walked out into the rain and away from the cacophony of noise. Closing his eyes, he focused entirely on his hearing, pulling apart and identifying each different noise. Finally, he heard … the ring of a sword on stone. 

“This way!”

Scott didn’t answer any texts or any phone calls. Neither did Kira. While Stiles and Liam worked their phones, Jackson and Malia sharpened their hearing. It took more time than it was comfortable to find them because they had to pinpoint the sounds of fighting over the fury of the storm. Immediately, they moved as a group, getting soaked to the bone and not caring one damn bit. Once they had a direction, it was easy to home in on Kira and Scott. Jackson, Malia and Liam sprinted to the tunnel that led out to the football field, leaving Stiles only a little bit behind over his yelled protest.

Jackson felt a rough snarl build up from the base of his gut when he turned the corner and saw what was happening. A werewolf – well, maybe it was a werewolf, but it was covered in black blood and smelled like hot tar and Clorox — had impaled Scott on his talon-like glowing claws. The rage backing that growl turned to fear as Jackson watched Scott stop grappling with the offending limb. One of the alpha’s hands fell slack to one side and Scott’s legs gave out. The words too late slid into Jackson’s mind, but he pushed them away in fury. He could feel the wrongness of the monster from where he was standing, the distortion that mutated werewolf gave off, but he refused to be too late. He roared, and from Malia’s and Liam’s answering roars, they agreed. 

Scott’s grip on the man’s arm kept loosening until the alpha had sank all the way to his knees. Jackson willed himself to lunge forward, but his feet felt like they had become lead. He’d only experience a sensation like this before and that was when he was a freshman on lacrosse team. During games, he’d get so excited, so keyed up, that a ball would soar right at him — and he had made the catch a hundred times during practice — but then sail right past him. He couldn’t tell anyone then why he had frozen up and he couldn’t explain it now. 

Liam roared another challenge, but neither he nor Malia got any closer. Their hesitation was understandable — what does someone do when their friend was impaled on a monster’s hand?

Stiles, breathing heavily, ran up next to Jackson. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Stiles stiffen, heard the breath catch in his throat, heard his jaws click shut. Turning slightly rather than continue to stare at the sight in front of them, Jackson watched Stiles’ face as it disintegrated from urgency into something more solemn. The scent of grief hit Jackson like the first handful of dirt crossed into the grave. 

Between his own hesitation and Stiles’ reaction, Jackson had added exactly nothing to the situation before Scott recovered from whatever the enemy werewolf had been doing to him. Scott pushed himself to his feet before his entire gathered pack. With new strength, Scott grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it, easily, and he broke it so badly that the bone was showing through the skin. Gross. Then the alpha took those strange claws out of his own chest and threw them to ground behind him.

Jackson heard Stiles’ sharp intake; he was breathing again.

Scott stood over the man and threatened him in classic fashion, ending with a clever ultimatum. “You can stay, and I’ll break something else, or you can run.”

The mutilated werewolf turned to look at the four of them, for some reason. He caught Stiles’ eye and Jackson heard Stiles’ heartbeat, instead of skyrocketing, smooth out into a strong, steady thump. Stiles lifted his chin and said without a bit of humor. 

“I’d run.”

So the monster did. 

They gathered together, instinctively, after the monster made its departure. Jackson immediately felt better, but he still craned his neck to get a better look at Scott’s wounds. He was thwarted by Scott buttoning up his jacket so no one could see. Fine, Jackson thought, be that way. I’ll check it later.

Once the pack felt together and safe, they turned their attention almost as one to the other werewolf stranger — one that had apparently come to Scott’s aid. Jackson would never ever, ever say this to Stiles, but this guy was seriously attractive. Perfect hair, nice body, and an easy smile. Jackson wasn’t interested — Stiles was more to him than just sex. Even what his relationship with Scott was deeper than just physical attractiveness. 

But if he hadn’t been in rewarding romantic and sexual situations — oh, yeah.

Jackson also felt he was familiar for some reason, though it didn’t click into place until Scott said his name. “Theo?” 

He remembered Theo Raeken, apparently all grown up in all the right ways and now a werewolf. While he’d been a grade behind Jackson, they’d gone to Sunday School together. They had been nothing more than acquaintances, so Jackson was content to let Scott handle the introductions. 

Stiles’ jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. 

Jackson wasn’t particularly stressed. Scott, Stiles, and Lydia had told him about the pull of the Nemeton on supernatural creatures. It made perfect sense that a supernatural creature who was born here would be drawn back by its ignition. 

Stiles had railed for weeks about shutting the thing down, and he had gotten irritated when it seemed that Deaton wasn’t doing anything about it. So, when Jackson had finally had enough of Stiles rants — they were saved especially for him because Scott saw Deaton as a father-figure — he had put Stiles in the car and driven to the animal clinic.

Deaton had patiently explained that a fully functioning Nemeton wouldn’t draw creatures like this one was doing, because a World Tree — the whole grove was a Nemeton, and the central tree was the World Tree — regulated the telluric currents without disrupting them. But this Nemeton had been reduced to a single stump while still being activated. Deaton had begun the process to replace the World Tree with another, but it would take decades for the new World Tree to become strong enough to function properly.

They were just going to have to grin and bear it.

As for Theo wanting to join the pack — why not? Scott was a True Alpha — a werewolf paragon that only happened once a century. Why wouldn’t an omega want to join the pack? Jackson would have wanted to, even if he didn’t know Scott, even if he didn’t have history with the members of the pack. 

“Oh, man, we have to get going.” Kira has glanced at her watch. “The Scribe has started.”

Scott, pretending to be fully recovered from being attacked and impaled, gave Theo a smile and then turned to Jackson Liam. “Sorry, we have to go find Lydia. You guys have fun.”

Liam made one more valiant try. “I could go with you.”

“Nope.” Jackson snatched him by the collar. “You’re going to stay with me.” He gripped the suddenly-quiet Stiles’ shoulder to reassure him before his boyfriend pulled away. 

“You aren’t going?” asked Theo, casually. 

“I graduated last year.” Jackson shared. “This is a senior’s only event.”

“They won’t even tell me what it is,” whined Liam.

Theo tilted his head to look at both of them. “You sign your initials on the library shelf. It’s to help everyone remember where you were and where you came from.”

“But you aren’t going?”

“I haven’t gone to school here for seven years. It won’t mean the same thing for me.” He shrugged. 

Liam was looking at the library and shaking his head. “Okay. I can wait.”

Something bothered Jackson, as they were standing there in the tunnel until it came to him. “Theo, if you weren’t going to Senior Scribe, what were you doing here?”

“Uh.” Theo looked a little lost for a moment. “I … I was hoping to run into Scott … Scott and Stiles.”

Liam catcalled. “Stallll-ker.”

Theo didn’t blush, but he just gave them a wave and walked away. “Whatever. See you two later.”

“That was fun.”

“Liam, you’re a tiny guy. Someone’s going to punch you if you tease them like that.”

“I’m a werewolf. I’d win.”

“Not my point, shrimpy. He’s a werewolf, too.” Jackson reached out to ruffle Liam’s hair, an act which Liam hated with a passion, so he dodged out of the way. 

“Stop doing that!”

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Jackson asked. Liam had to go back to the hospital to wait for Dr. Geyer to get off shift. Jackson texted Stiles that he was going to drop Liam off and he’d see him tomorrow. 

It didn’t take long. After watching Liam disappear into the hospital entrance, Jackson thought about going home. 

“Nope.” He turned around and drove back to the school. He wasn’t going to go home. While Liam was at the hospital and the rest of the pack were enjoying themselves like they should be doing, he was going to follow Scott’s attacker. 

Jackson wasn’t intending to kill him, not unless the man tried to kill him first. Yet he wasn’t content with no answers.

He understood why Scott had decided to let him walk away without interrogating him. It was Scott’s weakness — it had always been his weakness. This man, soaked in black blood, had been another in a long list of things which Scott hadn’t asked for. Was it the best tactical judgment? No. But if Scott had taken him into custody, the pack would have had to have missed Senior Scribe, they would have been up most of the night figuring out a way to get the police involved that didn’t expose the supernatural, and then they would have had to arrange someone to take the man to Eichen House. 

It would have taken all night and another piece of Scott’s life.

Jackson, on the other hand, had nothing else to do. So he parked his car two blocks from the edge of campus where no one would notice it, and he found the trail of blood and chemicals that the assassin had left. It wasn’t easy the rain would soon wash away all spoor, but fortunately the stench of the mutilated werewolf was almost overwhelming. What the fuck was he?

Ever since their return from their second trip to Mexico, Scott, Liam, Jackson, and Malia had taken to playing games in the woods. They weren’t really games, they were training. And they weren’t really training since no one knew what they were doing. Lydia and Stiles had researched all they could about how the senses of wolves, but descriptions were hard to turn into practical learning. Malia had taken the lead, but she was often frustrated. Instinct resisted being turned into words.

But they were better at it than they were at the end of the last school year. There were two trails of this strange werewolf. The first came from the direction of Scott’s house, but it didn’t have any real blood mixed into it, so it had to be the older one. The other trail headed as straight as it could — without stumbling down a main street, towards the industrial section of town.

Beacon Hills’ industrial sector was a stillborn idea of the late sixties. They were going to take over the production of electronics and turn this place into the next high-tech corridor. The area now known as Silicon Valley had won instead, leaving Beacon Hills with a lot of infrastructure it had no use for, including an underground utility tunnel system adequate for a city four times as large. 

Jackson found where the path disappeared into a storm drain. By this time, it was almost gone.

“Of course. It had to be a sewer.” 

He thought he’d have a good chance of finding the trail once he got inside, but they soon interacted with the water treatment plant. Everywhere smelled like chemicals. But he knew one thing — the guy hadn’t just crawled in here to get away. He must have had a destination in mind.

Jackson just had to find it.


	3. Parasomnia (Part 1: You Find the Piece that Doesn't Fit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the rest of the crew go to the first day of class for their last year of high school, Jackson does some investigating on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses some dialogue from the episode.

The Porsche pulled up smoothly to the curb in front of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station. Jackson didn’t think twice about occupying the no-parking zone — they weren’t going to be here long enough to get a ticket. Malia had clambered into the back seat already, so Stiles could just slide right into the passenger side and they would be off. 

“He’d better not keep us waiting,” she said grumpily, as she hated sitting in the back seat. “I don’t want to be late to school, especially on the first day of senior year.”

Jackson smirked at her. 

“I’m going to punch you so hard.” She joked, exasperatedly.

“Man, you’re violent. I’m your brother!”

“You’re also gloating because you don’t have to go to school with us. I don’t know what you’re going to do while we slave away in Death-Trap High.” 

Jackson shrugged as if it didn’t matter. He did have a plan for later that day, but it wasn’t anything he was going to share with his sister. She’d insist on going with him, and she deserved, after all the work she had put in, not to put her senior year in jeopardy so quickly. 

“What do you think is taking him so long?”

“One of the reasons my relationship with Stiles has been so successful is that I honor the concept of space,” Jackson began. “That concept translates to I give him the space to be Stiles, and he gives me the space to be me.”

“Uh-huh. Do you expect me to believe that he really respects your boundaries?”

“Of course he doesn’t. I just pretend that he does.” Jackson laughed. “But I don’t actually need him to give me space. I’m a high-maintenance guy, I like people taking care of me, and he likes taking care of people. On the other hand, while he is also a high-maintenance guy, he doesn’t like people taking care of him.”

“So you never know what he’s doing.”

“I wouldn’t say that. If he wants to tell me what he’s doing, he tells me. If he doesn’t, than I either let him do it, or I pretend I didn’t figure it out so he can tell himself that I don’t know what he’s doing. Unfortunately, the truth is that I don’t know what he’s doing this morning.”

Malia looked at the station. “I’m going in.” 

Jackson locked the doors. “Sit back and don’t worry, I’ll get you to class on time. Anyway, it’s always good to arrive at school late on the first day. It shows the teachers who’s boss.”

“And I’m the boss?”

“Yep.” 

Malia chuckled. “That’s not how Dad thinks it works.”

“Your father’s been brainwashed by the military-industrial-academic complex …” Jackson sat a little more upright. “Here he is now.”

Stiles nearly walked into the Porsche because he was moving very fast while not paying attention to where he was going. Instead, he was staring at a manila folder, holding the pages down as they fluttered in the morning breeze.

Jackson leaned over and opened the passenger side door with his hand, so Stiles could slide in without having to stop and look up.

“Good morning.”

Stiles grunted a response in some language that may have approximated English. 

“What’ve you got there?” Malia asked as Jackson pulled away from the curb. She reached over to snag it and Stiles yanked it away.

“I cajoled my Dad into having Parrish do a background check on Theo Raeken and his family.”

Jackson and Malia synchronized their eye-rolls. 

“I was right! We found something! That should shut all of you up.”

“What’d you find?” Malia demanded. 

“A speeding ticket from eight years ago.”

Jackson snorted. “I knew it — Theo is really twenty-four years old.”

“No, jackass, it was his father’s speeding ticket.” Stiles waved a photocopy of the offending document in triumph.

Malia frowned and turned her head to the side. “What does that mean?”

“It means he was speeding!” Stiles exclaims. “And who speeds?”

“People late to work. Action junkies. Delivery drivers.” Jackson listed dryly. 

“People trying to get away from something!” 

Jackson sighed as he pulled into the school parking lot. “Stiles …”

“Don’t _Stiles_ me. It’s significant!” 

Malia goes there so Jackson doesn’t have to. “How many speeding tickets do you have?”

“None.”

“How many would you have if your father wasn’t the Sheriff?” 

Stiles squirmed, caught. “Seventeen.”

Jackson parked the car and got out. Malia wiggled out from behind his seat. Stiles sat in the passenger’s seat for maybe half-a-minute. Finally, he got out of the car. 

Malia gestured, palms up, to indicate that he should respond to that. 

“I see your point.”

“I don’t know if you do, Stiles.” Malia walked around car. “Look, I get that you’re worried. He’s really hot. He’s got great hair, a perfect body. You should definitely feel threatened.”

Stiles was staring at her stunned. Jackson shared the same observation, but he knew better than to share it. Instead, he bit his tongue to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“I do. Now, more than ever.”

Stiles turned to look at Jackson who shook his head innocently. “I’ve never noticed.”

“Liar!” 

“Yeah.” Stiles turned his head to the side. “I’m going to have to side with Malia on that one.”

Jackson closed eyes and shaded his eyes with one hand in a dramatic pose. “I’m destroyed. You’ve destroyed me. I thought we had something, but you don’t believe me. I shall go throw myself off the nearest bridge.”

Stiles fought to keep the smile off his face. “You do that.”

“You want me to torture him for you?” Malia offered. 

“Uh.” Stiles and Jackson both turned to her in shock. They followed her line of sight to see the man himself getting out of a car with his mother driving. Theo looked up and waved at them. 

“I think I can take him.” 

“No. I don’t want him tortured. I want the truth. And there are ways to get the truth. Investigation. Verification. Patience. And I’m going to get the truth.”

“Why are you so worried about him?”

“Because I remember Theo from fourth grade, and that’s not Theo Raeken.”

The first warning bell rung, and students began moving faster to get to homeroom. 

“Malia, can you go ahead? I need to talk to Stiles.”

“Wait a minute, you said I should be late, to show them who’s boss.”

Jackson pushed her gently on her way. “You are the boss of them. And I’m the boss of you. Go.”

Malia moved towards the main building. “You are so not the boss of me!”

She disappeared soon after, and most of the students were gone as well. Jackson scanned the area for any sign of supernatural creatures that might overhear the conversation he was about to have with Stiles. 

Stiles had been standing quietly. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m fine. I don’t have to go to school today. And what’s with the ‘how are you doing’ bullshit? Your deflection game is usually so much better than that.”

“I don’t want you to tell me I’m paranoid.”

“But you’re not paranoid, are you?” Jackson stated. He reached out and took Stiles by the wrist.

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe, you’re going to explain to me where this really comes from.” He pull Stiles closer to him; Stiles tried to resist, but he couldn’t.

“It’s just a feeling …”

Jackson stared at him. 

“It’s more than a feeling. You remember what we talked about during the Dead Pool.”

“The way you can just sense the flaw in the patterns around you.”

Stiles nodded. “Theo doesn’t belong here. He’s not who he says he is.”

“Even though everything checks out.”

“I _feel_ it.”

“Then tell Scott about your ability.”

“NO!” Stiles moved to walk away, but Jackson didn’t let go of his wrist. 

“Stiles. What—”

“I said no.” Stiles jerked his arm out of Jackson’s grip. “And that’s final.”

Stiles stormed off into the school.

**********

Later that morning, Jackson changed in his room. He had dug out a pair of ragged jeans. To be clear, they weren’t distressed; distressed jeans were considered fashionable because they were made that way. Jackson was supposed to be hip, so he should be fond of them, but he personally couldn’t tell the difference. From the back of the closet, he also retrieved a sweatshirt that was covered with paint from when he and Stiles had pained the Stilinski living room in May. Finally, he brought out a pair of clunky Birkenstocks from under the bed. They were a gift and he would never ever wear them again if he could possibly help it.

He didn’t want to wear clothes which he liked when he was going to be rummaging around underground tunnels filled with water and sewer pipes. 

His mother was already at work and his father was working in the study. He was glad, as he wasn’t ready to talk to either one of them yet. He just hoped they would let him have enough time to think or, rather, enough time for him to reach a point where he could think about things in which he had zero interest. He understood the motives behind their interest — they were trying to be good parents — but he wondered if they had forgotten that he was already independently wealthy. While he didn’t have enough money to never have to work, he certainly had enough to take a year or two off.

Searching through the garage, he found a Maglite, a coil of old rope, and some sidewalk chalk. He had almost gotten lost the night before last when he had tried to track down Scott’s assailant. Werewolf senses were great, but there was nothing wrong with a little human augmentation.

If he were more like Stiles, Jackson would make it a point to start digging into the history of Beacon Hills and the influence the Hale Family had on it. During the Dead Pool, the pack had recovered a cassette tape which explained about how the Hales had helped found the city in which they now lived. Jackson and Stiles had tried to verify a few things with Derek, but Derek hadn’t known much more than what was on the tape.

What they did know is that the Hales had used their wealth and reputation to build Beacon Hills. As a consequence, there were few public works that the family hadn’t had an indirect hand in designing, including the Water Treatment Plant that too which had tracked the strange werewolf who had attacked Parrish and Scott. 

Jackson had a curious thought: did the Hales really insist on so many underground tunnel systems in order to be prepared for Beacon Hills’ rapid growth? Rapid growth which had never appeared leaving a maze of tunnels under certain key locations throughout the city. Tunnels, mostly unused, stretched all the way from Eichen House to the Preserve on the other side of the city. Perhaps, it hadn’t been an accident at all, but the Hales way of _being prepared._

If he had been Stiles, then he would have dug deeper. He didn’t like reading government documents that much.

It took him a little while to where he had lost the assailant’s scent, but when he did, he marked it with a big white X. He started to explore the nearby tunnels, marking them as well so we wouldn’t go back over the same place. Many of them looked very similar to each other, and he’d have to use his eyes and nose, as there was an annoying hum in this part of the tunnel system that made his hearing useless.

Jackson didn’t have a plan for what he’d do if he found the warped werewolf’s hideout, and that worried him a bit. It’d been more than twenty-four hours since the fight, and while the compound fracture Scott had given their enemy probably wouldn’t have healed quickly — Jackson winced at the thought of having reset the bone; werewolves healed but that didn’t mean they didn’t feel pain — it was probably healed by now if he was anything like a normal werewolf.

It turned out that he didn’t have to worry about what he would do if he came across the attacker. After an hour of going up and down the tunnels, he came across the very werewolf, who was stone dead.

Jackson had seen a corpse before, so he did not lose his breakfast, but the condition of the body made that a near thing. It was definitely the man who tried to kill Scott, still covered in that black blood which was now dry and caked him. The man’s eyes stared, yellow and glassy, and his face had frozen into a rictus of fear. He no longer demonstrated the claws and fangs he had shown while at the school, but his right arm still had the bones sticking out of it. Gruesomely, the front of his entire torso had been split open in a neat line from the hollow of his throat to his belly button.

Jackson approached as stealthily as he could, keeping alert for others. There was no sign of blood near the body, either black or red. That meant that their attacker, now a victim, hadn’t been killed in this spot; he had been dumped here. 

As a living werewolf, his presence scared a few rats away, including a few that emerged from the corpse’s abdomen. Jackson had to turn away at the point, reaching for his phone. Fortunately, he could not get a signal this far below ground, so he had plenty of time to steady himself before he called the police on the surface. 

It took thirty minutes for the sheriff and Parrish to arrive. Jackson hadn’t expected happy smiles from them; he was reporting a dead body, after all. Yet he also hadn’t expected the look on the Sheriff’s face. It seemed composed of equal parts exasperation, irritation, and resentment.

“You said you had something you wanted to show us, Jackson?”

“Sure.” He felt on the wrong foot. He hadn’t spent much time with Noah since he had started dating Stiles, but Jackson had assumed the sheriff liked him. “Down this way.”

It took the three of them no time at all to get back down to the corpse, approaching the location with flashlights while Parrish and the Sheriff had guns drawn. Jackson, more relaxed, lead the way to the gruesome corpse’s resting place. The sheriff and Parrish knelt to get a better look at it. 

“Is that him?” The sheriff asked his deputy, sounding tired. 

“Yeah. I would never forget him. What the hell happened?”

Noah Stilinski stood up and turned to Jackson. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Whoa.” Jackson took a step back at the accusatory tone. “I didn’t do this! I called you, remember?” 

Noah blinked for a second. He looked so much older. “I … I know that. You’re a witness, though, so I have to ask these questions. Why were you down here?”

“I was tracking him because he attacked Scott last night at the Senior Scribe. Didn’t Stiles tell you?”

Parrish had put on evidence gloves and bent over the body. He was searching the corpse as well as he could without moving it in hopes of preserving evidence. 

The sheriff didn’t seem very convinced. “Okay, so why were you down here alone?”

“Well, everyone else has school?” Jackson felt some of his standard bravado creep back into his voice. He hadn’t expected a suspicious tone from his boyfriend’s father. “There was a whole bunch of questions that haven’t been answered. How did he get those funky powers? Was he part of a larger pack we should worry about? Were there others like him?” 

Noah’s brow creased. “So you thought you’d go after a potential killer by yourself.”

Jackson’s felt his heart jump at the words _potential killer._ Was that it? “I can take care of myself, and I took the initiative because no one else was available. He was going for Scott. I don’t know if Stiles hasn’t told you anything about pack dynamics, but I’m a little protective of my alpha.”

“His name is Nathaniel Belasko.” Parrish held up an identification. “He’s from New Hampshire.”

The sheriff rubbed his hand over his face. “God damn it.”

Jackson looked between the two. “What?”

“Crimes, especially major crimes, that occur across state lines fall under federal jurisdiction. That means there’s a chance the FBI will get involved and that means …” Parrish shrugged. 

“Agent McCall.” The sheriff looked at the body and then at the identification. Then he swore and stood up. “We have to do this by the book. Get out of here, Jackson.” He pointed at Parrish. “This was an anonymous tip.” 

Jackson nodded. He was still concerned by the sheriff’s attitude toward him. He’d have to talk to Stiles about it. And he’d have to talk to Scott about the possibility that his father would come back to town.

**********

Lydia was waiting for him at their favorite diner. When Jackson walked in she had the remains of a smile on her face, like the glorious sunset after a beautiful sunny day. Jackson had to pause. Lydia could look happy, but it was always a triumphant sort of happiness, the type that came from accomplishment. This was not that type of smile. This was the dreamy, romantic smile of freshman girls when a senior boy smiled at him. He had to look twice.

His ex-girlfriend noticed him and she banished the look from her face. She waved brightly to him, and he nodded back, coming to sit down in front of her.

“You’re in a good mood today.”

Lydia picked up her glass and took a sip. “Maybe I am.”

“So how was the last first day of high school?”

“It actually wasn’t all that good.” She replied with melancholy. “I was drawn to this girl, Tracy Stewart. She’s been having nightmares — night terrors, really.”

“Oh.”

“Parasomnia is a common enough problem, but I could hear her panicking in the hallway. I don’t usually hear random things.” Lydia observed. “I talked with her. She’s really freaked out. Masked figures, mysterious birds, windows opening on their own.”

“So you think it might mean something?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I recruited Deputy Parrish to go over and check her room out. No sign of the masked figures, but her skylight, which had been sealed years ago, was unsealed, and there were a lot of dead crows on her roof.”

Jackson frowned. “So it does mean something.” But he had listened to Lydia’s heart. When she had mentioned the deputy’s name, her heart had sped up in the best way. It looked like Lydia may have a crush. 

“Probably. Jordan agreed to stake her house out tonight in order to keep an eye on her.”

“Jordan, eh?”

Lydia brushed it off with a hand gesture. “It’s no big deal.”

“You like him.”

“Oh, pshaw. It’s far too early to say _like._ I am interested.”

“I was wondering why you were still here.” Jackson joked.

“I have senior year …”

“We both know you could have graduated easily before this semester. You only have one class that you have to take, and you could have easily taken care of that over the summer. You could be in Cambridge right now.”

Lydia sipped her drink. “Your point?”

“I have a suspicion, but I want you to tell me why you’re still here.”

“The same reason you are, I guess.”

Jackson was taken aback. He should have known that confronting Lydia would be a challenge. “You don’t have a lack of ambition.”

“Please, Jackson, you may have fooled Stiles, but you don’t fool me. You like having friends — real friends. You only had Danny before, and I really had … no one but you.”

Jackson felt a smile crawl across his face. 

“Give your ego a rest.” She mocked him, gently. “The truth is … as unbearably sentimental as it is, I like being in the pack with people I’ve come to care about. I like making a difference. MIT can wait a year until my pack leaves for college.”

“I feel the same way. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s a pain, yes, but I’ve, amazingly enough, found it very rewarding.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “And _Jordan_ is easy on the eyes.”

“Jealous?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s right.” Lydia smirked. “You have a loving boyfriend and a close, personal relationship with the alpha. Who would have thought becoming decent people would give us so much of an advantage?”

“We were lied to. All the television shows told us that being mean was the way to go.” Jackson laughed. “So you think it’s important we keep an eye on Tracy. Can I do anything?”

Lydia seemed very please. “We’re doing all we can so far. I’m dropping by Jordan’s stake-out with some coffee.” 

“I might join you. Maybe I can figure out what crawled up the sheriff and died.” Jackson went on to explain his discovery of Belasko’s corpse and the sheriff’s hostile attitude. 

Lydia didn’t immediately comment when he was finished. 

“So what do you think?”

“I think, Jackson, that you should talk to Stiles about it.”

Jackson tapped the table. “That sounded like you’re trying to pass the buck. Honestly, Stiles is sort of irritated with me right now, too.”

“I wonder why I didn’t get the slightest hint of this Belasko-person’s death.” She tried to pretend she was thinking very hard. “He attacked Scott and Kira; I should have gotten some inkling.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I’m not aware that you’re trying to change the subject, but you never heard every death, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. It’s no surprise I’m so in the dark, as no one can really tell me anything about my own powers. I’ve read everything that the Argents had and everything that Deaton had about Banshees but it was pathetically inadequate. The Argents materials are primarily focused on fighting supernatural creatures and an Emissary’s works are primarily about their interactions with werewolves. I’ve made a few observations on my own, which is why this particular event is confusing to me.”

“Tell me what you’ve learned.” 

“As far as I can tell, the stronger the emotional consequences to a death for the banshee, the more information a banshee receives. I screamed for the deaths of the Darach’s victims, for example, because her ritual directly threatened people I care about. But if a killer were to walk into that house across the street and strangle someone, I would be far less likely to hear anything because the death wouldn’t mean much to me.”

“That makes a sort of sense. The folklore says that banshees were tied to families in the past.”

“Yes, but Scott and Kira are my friends. I have to say they’re among the people I’m closest to. Belasko’s death has importance to them, so I should have heard _something._ ”

“Can anything block a banshee’s hearing?”

Lydia shrugged in frustration. “There’s too much I don’t know.”

“And did Tracy Stewart have anything to do with you?”

“She had a counseling session with my mother that was … surprising. Not for my mother, of course.” Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Still pretending?” 

“Last winter she said she wanted to help but the moment I asked tough questions about my grandmother and Meredith, she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. I think she knows …”

“About the supernatural?”

“Enough to play ostrich.”

“Disappointing.” Jackson leaned forward. “Speaking of playing ostrich, why do you think that the sheriff would suddenly be hostile to me?”

Lydia sighed. She looked at him long enough to see his serious face. “I don’t think it’s suddenly.”

“I’ve been dating Stiles for six months.”

“Uh-huh, and the sheriff loves Stiles and has a tendency to avoid saying things that might make him upset. How many times have you been with the sheriff without Stiles being there?”

“Uh-oh.” Jackson thought about it. This morning had been the first. 

“You have to remember that we’ve both grown, but there’s really no magical sign above our heads that say No Longer Assholes.” She took a sip of her drink and glanced over at him apologetically. “Remember your interactions with him before you went to London.”

Jackson remembered them all right. There had been after the Winter Formal where Jackson had tried to blame Stiles for Lydia’s assault. There had been his testimony about Mr. Lahey’s abuse and then his recanting. There had been the accusations of kidnapping against his son, which the sheriff now knew was an attempt by Stiles to save lives. And then there had been the four dead deputies.

“Shit.”

“Honestly, from what Stiles has told me, his dad has a really difficult time adapting to all the supernatural things we have to deal with. But he hasn’t tried to stop Stiles from seeing you, and he wasn’t too rude, was he?”

“No.” But there was still a problem there, one that Jackson hadn’t seen, and he hadn’t a clue how to fix it.


	4. Parasomina (Part 2: It's Not Broken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Jackson track down Stiles and Liam on their stake out of Theo

Jackson managed to avoid the rush-hour traffic by taking back roads, so he made it to the school slight before Scott’s study session got out. Lydia had told Jackson that Scott already had a test the next day and was being diligent. It was no surprise; the alpha had to take several difficult classes this semester in order to have a chance of getting into U.C. Davis and there veterinary program. Scott would probably be at sessions like this one often. 

It made Jackson feel guilty that he was waiting to ambush Scott with the news he had about Belasko. Scott had never been a bad student by any stretch of the imagination, and he certainly wasn’t stupid but unlike Lydia and Stiles, he had to buckle down and do the work, or his grades suffered. Jackson understood what that was like. 

He sat patiently in his Porsche listening to music, next to where Scott had parked his bike. Lydia had gone to take care of a few things for her mother; Stiles had disappeared, leaving Jackson a cryptic text; and sheriff was busy calling New Hampshire to find out all he could about Belasko. It might give the pack a lead to who had killed him.

Scott emerged from the school talking to Liam’s friend, Mason. As per usual, Mason was completely comfortable around Scott. The alpha had that knack when he put his mind to it.

“I haven’t seen him since before lunch. I’m sorry.”

Mason frowned. “We made plans in physics class. He was going to have dinner at my house, play some Injustice, and then go work out. Do you think he forgot?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Scott turned away and sniffed the air. With pursed lips, he began to walk towards the parking lot but not toward his bike, where Jackson waited. The pair reached the edge of the curb, and Scott tried to surreptitiously sniff the air once again. “Wait a minute, I think I know what happened.”

Mason looked on expectantly. 

“I remember Stiles saying he was going to ask Liam to help him do some stuff this afternoon.” Scott kept his voice light, but Jackson saw his brows furrowed. “I’m sure Stiles bulldozed Liam into it; he can be quiet insistent when he put his mind to it. Give Liam a ring. If I see Stiles and Liam, I’ll remind him.”

“Thanks, man.”

The sophomore scurried away, probably to take a bus home, but Scott remained in the empty parking space. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. Jackson had done similar things when trying to piece together scents and chemo signals. Finally, Scott shook his head and walked towards his bike. Jackson got out of the car.

“Hey. Have you seen Stiles?”

“Hey. No, not since this morning when I dropped him off.”

Scott looked over his shoulder. 

“Are you going to meet him tonight?” 

“We didn’t have any plans, but I’m free if he is.”

Scott took a deep breath, distracted by some thought. Finally, he turned back to Jackson. “So you were waiting for me then?”

“Yeah. We shouldn’t talk about this out in the open though.” Jackson gestured to his car, and then both got in for privacy. The beta led off with something innocuous. “How was your last first day?”

Scott pasted a smile on his face. “Fine!”

“Try again. That lie stunk so bad I’m going to have to get my car detailed.” 

“Man, sometimes I still hate being a werewolf. I miss fibbing. To be honest, I’m kinda … worried.” 

Jackson waited for a moment. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, because I really don’t have a lot to complain about.”

“I complain all the time, Scott, and I’m good-looking, talented, and filthy rich. We all have to let our inner whiner out once in a while.”

Scott squinted his eyes, but he had come to trust that he could let loose around Jackson. “Classes are going to be really hard this semester. I think … I think Ms. Finch doesn’t want me in her biology class.”

Jackson grimaced; Scott needed that class.

“She looked directly at me while she was talking about people who wouldn’t be able to hack it.”

“Wow. What a bitch.” 

“She’s right, though.”

Jackson tsked. “No, she isn’t. You had plenty of reasons why your grades dropped. No one can blame you for that, but you also got them back up.”

“Sure, but classes are more than about grades.” Scott fingered his backpack, anxiously. “How many things that I needed to learn did I miss when I was running around after Peter or Deucalion or Jennifer?”

“Or me.”

“I don’t hold that against you.” Scott said quickly.

Jackson shrugged. He didn’t detect a lie this time. 

“Passing the tests that I had to pass doesn’t actually indicate that I got what I needed out of those classes. I don’t feel ready, and someone’s already tried to attack me once this semester.”

“Yeah. About that.”

Scott slid from worried teenager to worried alpha in a moment. “You heard something?”

“I tracked the guy who tried to steal your power down. His name was Nathaniel Belasko.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Right now? Occupying a drawer in the morgue.” 

The scent of disappointment filled the car. Scott was generally distressed at the thought of the man who attacked him dying. “Is it too much to hope he died of natural causes?”

“Unless being sliced open from throat to belly button is a natural occurrence, yes, it is.”

Scott flexed his hands as they rested in his lap. “I was hoping that this was a one-time thing, but given what Deaton told me about the talons this morning, I really think something more is coming.”

“You can’t be sure about that,” Jackson said. “You certainly can’t let it dominate your life.”

“I know. I know, but part of me says that it’s my job to be ready. That I have to be prepared or other people are going to pay the price, but I don’t see how I can do it. I don’t see how I can work enough to save up for college, help Liam learn control, be any type of a boyfriend for Kira, pass Ms. Finch’s sieve test, and be ready to stop the next psycho parade that marches through town.”

“Then don’t.” Jackson said with conviction. “You know what the biggest thing that the packs in London worried about in their day-to-day lives? Where to throw the next full moon party. And while London didn’t have an active Nemeton, it was chock full of supernatural politics. I asked my alpha over there about it once and she said that you can’t live waiting for the next attack. Because that isn’t living.”

Scott nodded. “Easier said than done, and not just for me. I’m worried about Stiles.”

“Yeah.”

“Today he was … out of control.” Scott bit his lip. “He’s fixated on Theo being a threat.” 

“There’s precedence.” Jackson wasn’t going to break Stiles’ confidence. He couldn’t.

“He dragged me and Theo into the locker room. We interrogated him, and then Stiles basically called Theo a liar to his face.” 

Jackson sucked on his teeth. “Maybe he is.”

“And maybe he isn’t.” Scott sounded exasperated. “But we can’t …” Scott drew in a big breath. “We knew that the Nemeton was going to draw people here. It’s wrong to treat every supernatural creature like a potential threat.”

“Is that what Stiles is doing?”

“Yes. He broke into the school’s administration office. That could get him expelled. That could get him arrested! And all he got for it was Theo’s father’s signature on a transfer form that he says didn’t match the signature on a parking ticket from seven years ago. To him, that’s all the proof he needs.”

“But it’s not for you.”

“No.” Scott shook his head. “It’s not enough for me. There’s a dozen reasons why someone’s signature has changed over seven years. Stiles is not actually a cop. He’s not an expert, even though he likes if we treat him like one, but I wouldn’t say that to him. Instead, I said the truth. No one’s done anything wrong. In fact, the only thing we know Theo’s done for sure is get his ass beat trying to help me.”

“Maybe he’s … “Jackson hesitated. It was tough telling just enough of the truth to avoid revealing secret. “He’s worried about the pack.”

“I hope that’s what it is. I don’t know what else he wants me to do about Theo. Stiles says not to trust him, and I don’t. Not really.”

“Theo wants to join the pack; are you going to let him?”

“I don’t know yet!” Scott said quickly. “I want to get to know him first. You guys are enough for me; I don’t really need more people in my pack, but he’s an omega. I remember what being an omega is like. So do you. It’s not fun.”

Jackson looked down at his hand. He did remember what it was like. He did remember what it might have cost him.

“A few nights after you got Bit, I came across an omega in the woods while we were looking for Lydia. He was … fucked up. Filthy. Disheveled. He broke into a grave and ate a corpse’s liver. He broke into an ambulance and ate parts off a guy. It was … it was pretty scary what he had become. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else, especially someone I used to be friends with.”

“I’ve heard stories. Omegas were watched carefully in London; the first time something strange happened they had to find a pack or get out of town. What happened to this guy?” 

“Gerard cut him in half with a broadsword while I watched.” Scott looked sick. “There’s a chance that Stiles is right, but I can’t know for sure yet. How am I going to live with myself if I drive Theo off and he degenerates, and the only thing wrong with him was Stiles’ gut feeling?” 

Jackson licked his lips. “Stiles’ gut feelings are usually pretty accurate.”

“No.” Scott said heavily. “They’re not. He’s a good detective, but detectives work off clues. I’m really worried it’s something … worse.” 

_Uh-oh._ “What are you afraid it is?”

“I … I think I’ve ruined him.”

“Huh?”

“He’s been kidnapped, beaten, drowned, held at gun-point, concussed, and — oh, yeah! — possessed.” Scott said sadly, then his eyes grew bigger. “You’ve done wonders for him. You have, and I’m always going to be grateful, but there’s … there’s a limit to what someone can go through and not come out the other side permanently changed.”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“I know, Jackson. I do know that he’s never going to be the same person he was before, but I really, really want him to be at least as happy as he once was. That’s not unreasonable, is it?” Scott grabbed Jackson forearm. “Stiles is not just different, he’s … We were in the library — Kira, Malia, and I — and he came in with the signatures and we didn’t accept them as proof that Theo was nefarious and he started yelling at us. I mean, angry yelling at Malia and Kira. He’s never done that before.”

Jackson nodded. He was going to have to talk to Stiles. He’s going to have to get his stubborn boyfriend to really talk to his best friend. Idiots.

“I’ll tell you this, Scott. I can’t tell you if Stiles is right or wrong about Theo.” That was absolutely true. He couldn’t go into it. “But I can tell you that it’s not your fault if Stiles sees the world as … dark and dangerous, any more than it is his fault you’re an alpha werewolf with a savior complex.”

“I do not —”

“You abso-fucking-lutely do. You’re not responsible for his fate, and he’s not responsible for yours. Both of you need to understand that. You chose to follow him into those woods; he chose to follow you as part of your pack. 

“There’s no such thing as fate,” Scott said sadly. His phone pinged with a text. 

“Is that Stiles?”

“No.” Scott frowned. “It’s from Liam. Mind driving me somewhere? I’m going to need your help.”

**~*~**

They were driving to the edge of the Preserve on the south-west side of town. Jackson had offered to drive Scott out there, but the alpha had declined, so instead he followed Scott’s bike with his Porsche.

They pulled up to a section of the woods where the Jeep had been parked. No one was there. 

“How did you know they were going to be here?” Jackson asked, getting out of the car.

“I texted Liam. He texted me back.” 

Jackson could locate the beta’s scent in the jeep. “What have they been doing?”

“Apparently, stalking Theo. Liam complained that they had been watching Theo play video games for hours through his bedroom window.”

Grimacing, Jackson searched the tree line with his eyes. “So they followed him here?” In the far distance, he saw another vehicle parked. It must have been Theo’s. “What do you think he’s doing here?”

“I know exactly what he’s doing here. I’m going to need you to do something for me, Jackson.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to take Stiles’ side as much as you can.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott sighed. “I’m going to talk to Stiles. He can’t go around invading people’s privacy like this, and he certainly can’t get Liam involved in it. You realize what they did is technically against the law? It’s called invasion of privacy. You can’t sit outside someone’s house and watch them.”

“His father’s the sheriff,” Jackson pointed out. “Neither of them would get in trouble.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” Scott stood up straighter. “I’ve got to talk to him, but I want someone in his corner.”

“I’m always in his corner.”

Scott smiled. Then he leaned on his bike. Jackson took out his phone and read an article on law school admissions. Time passed, but eventually Stiles and Liam came through the underbrush to wear Scott and Jackson were waiting for them. Stiles froze in position, Liam almost running into him. His boyfriend closed his eyes, took a deep breath and headed toward the jeep. 

“Find anything?” Scott asked, as neutrally as he could.

Jackson lifted his hand in greeting only for Stiles to ignore him, making a beeline toward his vehicle and escape. 

Stiles opened the door, paused, and said “Nope.”

“I fell in a hole!” Liam offered up. Scott ignored the beta but Jackson favored him an annoyed eye-roll and a come-hither gesture. Liam hesitated and then mouthed ‘what?’ 

Jackson pointed at the boy and then pointed him to right in front of him. Liam shook his head. Jackson bugged his eyes out in a glare.

“It was the bridge where his sister died, wasn’t it?” 

Stiles slid into the jeep. “Yes. It was very embarrassing so we’re going to leave now.” The C-5 turned over once and then died. “Jackson!”

“Yes?” Jackson stepped forward to where Liam was still stubbornly standing sort-of between Scott and Stiles. 

“Can you turn the ignition when I ask you to?” 

“Sure.” Jackson glanced over at Scott, who gestured with his head that it was fine. They watched as Stiles got out of the jeep, walked around to the front, pulled up the hood and started working on the engine. It probably wouldn’t help; the Jeep was just old. Over the summer, Jackson had taken one look at the vehicle when it had broken down on a date and insisted that it get repaired. It had been an interesting fight between them. 

“Stiles.” Scott’s voice was insistent. Scott wasn’t going to let Stiles go without talking about it.

“Just a moment. Hit it.”

The engine caught and then died, futzing out. Jackson bit a smart-ass remark back. It was not the time to announce himself right about vehicle maintenance practices. 

Scott tried once again. “Stiles.”

“Yes. Okay we followed him out here. What do you want me to say? That I’m crazy? Totally paranoid? None of this is new information.”

Jackson was out of the driver’s side of the Jeep and to the front in a shot. “Hey!”

Scott and Stiles stopped what might have been the beginnings of an ugly conversation and looked at him. 

“Don’t say that.” Jackson walked up to Stiles. “You know you’re not crazy. We know you’re not crazy, and none of us are saying you’re crazy. But you don’t really think that we think that you’re insane; you’re deflecting.”

“Are you going to get on me now?”

“No.” Jackson gestured sort of helplessly. “But …”

Stiles scowled at him, warning him to silence with his eyes.

“No, I don’t think you’re crazy, Stiles.” Scott said soothingly. 

“But you do think I’m paranoid. You think I’m obsessing on Theo because I like feeling this way.” Stiles spat out.

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“Because you won’t listen to me, Scott!”

“I am listening.” Scott began and he took a step forward. 

“No, you’re not, or you wouldn’t be defending him! You defend everyone, you believe in everyone, except me!” Stiles shouted. 

The glade went quiet as the words echoed through the forest. Liam looked like he wanted to go bury himself somewhere in the underbrush. Jackson didn’t know what to do. Scott had wanted Jackson to be on Stiles’ side, and he was, but if Stiles had said that to him, it would be very hard not to take that personally. Stiles looked caught between wanting to take it back and wanting to run away, so he just stood there, staring at the C-5’s engine.

“You can’t say that.”

“Even if it’s true?”

“No.” Scott steadied himself but he was hurt. “You can’t say that to me. I’ve believed in you when no one else did.” 

Stiles hesitated. Jackson reached out to touch his shoulder but his boyfriend but it didn’t have the desired effect. “Really?”

“I listen to you all the time, but you’ve been wrong in the past. You were wrong about Deaton. You were wrong about Derek. You were wrong about Kira. You were wrong about Liam. You didn’t even suspect Ms. Blake!” 

“Wait?” Liam spoke up from the edge of the clearing. “Wrong about me how?”

“So now I’m useless.”

“No.” Scott rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re not useless, you’re just not always right!”

Stiles reached up and slammed the jeep’s hood closed. “That sounds pretty useless to me.”

“Stiles. Stiles, look at me.” Scott’s voice was insistent. “I’ve given every opportunity to find proof to match your feelings about Theo. Haven’t I?”

“Why should I have to have proof? Isn’t all we’ve done together … oh, wait, I’m a loser who gets things wrong.”

“Stop twisting my words!”

Scott turned away and moved to his bike. Jackson heard him counting back down to ten. For his part, Jackson went to stand in front of Stiles, though his boyfriend still wouldn’t let him touch him. Stiles’ chest was heaving in anger and … panic. 

“Stiles …”

“Shut up,” Stiles snapped. “This is between me and him.”

Jackson felt his back stiffened. His eyes hood. “What did you just say to me?”

Before they could continue, Scott turned back. “I can’t do what you ask, Stiles, without any proof. I have to give a Theo a chance.”

Stiles took the opportunity to slide away from the can of worms that had just been opened and confront Scott once again. 

“So you’re taking his side …”

“No,” Scott gritted his teeth. “I’m not taking his side. I’m doing what’s right. Leave Theo alone until he actually does something wrong.” 

“Are you … are you giving me an order?”

“What? No.”

“It sounded like one.” 

“Fine!” Scott’s raised his voice a little bit. “Do what you want; you will anyway. You know what you should do next? Break into his house and tap his phone! And if that doesn’t work, why don’t you kidnap him and torture him until he confesses!”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Whatever. Kira’s meeting me at home.” Scott walked over to his bike and grabbed his helmet. “Have fun with the Inquisition. Liam, you want a ride before Stiles gets you sent to juvie?”

“Uh.” Liam sprung from where he was nearly hiding. “Sure.” 

The beta spring onto the back of the motorcycle, even without a helmet. The bike roared to life and they took off out of the Preserve, leaving Stiles and Jackson standing in silence. The night swiftly overwhelmed them and insects began to hum. 

“Look …” Stiles began slowly. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Stiles swallowed. “I … I got angry.”

“No shit, but I didn’t ask you how you felt, I asked you what you’re doing. You’re the one who told me _last night_ that you’re worried about Scott and you growing apart. So, you thought that the best way to stop that from happening would be … whatever the fuck that was?”

“This _is_ us growing apart.” Stiles’ eyes blazed. “He’s not going to listen to me about Theo! He’s going to give him a chance!” 

“Why should he?”

Stiles gawped. 

“Why should he? All you’ve done is break the law and scream at him. I wouldn’t listen to you, and I’m in love with you.”

“He … he should listen to me because …”

“Because why? Because you need some sort of ego-boost reassurance that he’s still thinks you’re an important part of his life?”

Stiles mouth fell open even wider. 

Jackson felt himself get angry as well, angrier than he’d ever been at Stiles. “Don’t you ever yell at me to shut up. I’m not your bop bag.”

Stiles seemed to collapse at that. Helplessness replaced irritation. He leaned against his jeep and covered his face with his hands. 

The fragility of that pose drained all the anger out of Jackson, but anger never really solved anything did it? You had to talk. “Do you know why Scott is your best friend? Do you know why you feel you’re losing him?”

Stiles peaked at him through his fingers. “No, but I get the feeling that you’re going to tell me.”

“Because there was a time when you could scream at Scott and he’d just accept it. He’d sit there and look sad and do whatever it is you wanted him to do, no matter how much he didn’t want to, no matter how badly you had made him feel.”

“I never did that.”

Jackson gritted his teeth. “You didn’t browbeat him into looking for Laura Hale’s corpse?”

Stiles reared back. 

“Don’t get me wrong. That was your dynamic, but your dynamic has changed. You’re not in charge anymore, and you resent it.”

“In charge? You think this is about me being in charge?”

“Yes.” Jackson crossed his arms. “Otherwise why does it bother you so much when he has an opinion that’s different than yours? You don’t think he’s stupid, do you?”

“No!”

“You don’t think he’s being malicious, do you?”

Stiles frowned. He saw where this was going. “You made your point.”

Jackson held out his hand to Stiles, for him to take. Stiles was upset, so it had to be up to him whether he wanted physical contact, but Stiles always wanted physical contact. He loved the reassurance, even if sometimes he looked as if he couldn’t believe that Jackson was the one giving it to him. Jackson pulled him closer.

“It was easier, wasn’t it?” 

Stiles eyebrows came together in confusion and then they smoothed out. “Yeah.”

“When it was just you and Scott and your unrealistic dreams of bangin’ my girlfriend and his unrealistic dreams of playing first line, your fights didn’t mean anything. Now they do.”

“I guess.” Stiles leaned his head on Jackson’s shoulder, uncharacteristically. “But there are compensations.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

Jackson didn’t want to ruin the moment that was coming, but he had to try. “But really, you should tell him why you think Theo is dangerous. The _real_ reason.”

“I can’t.” Stiles’ voice broke. “Not yet. I don’t know how.”

“Stiles.” Jackson hugged him. “Take it from someone who knows. Don’t wait too long.”


	5. Dreamcatchers (Part 1: Save Your Strength)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson has about as much luck tracking down Tracy Stewart as the rest of the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialogue from the episode.

“I am going to tear you apart.” Jackson crowed even as he concentrated on the task at hand. His fingers flew as his furious assault continued unabated. “You think you can dodge me? You think you can escape my lethal attacks? I am a demigod!”

Danny face twisted in derision and punished Lord Raiden’s whiff with an uppercut. “Your trash talk needs a little work.”

“My trash talk is excellent, thank you very much.” Jackson smirked as he attempted to regain the momentum within the game. “It’s free of vulgarities and grammatically correct.”

Danny looked to his bedroom’s ceiling for strength, regardless of the disadvantage it put his fighter at. “Yeah, that certainly counts in smack. Does anyone else other than me know that you are an incredible deep-cover dweeb?”

Jackson didn’t answer him but instead pushed Danny’s Johnny Cage completely across the screen, winning this, the third and final round. 

“Finish him!” the video game ordered. 

The pair turned to each other, and Jackson looked triumphant. “If you do it, I won’t mind,” Danny smirked. 

“I’d never finish you off, Danny.” Lord Raiden tapped Johnny Cage on the shoulder, ending the match.

There was approximately fifteen seconds of silence before they both burst out in roaring laughter. Jackson reached behind to the mini fridge and pulled out two beers. 

“I’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Well, then it’s good thing I’m offering you a single beer and not challenging you to a keg stand.” 

“Says the man who can’t get drunk and doesn’t have to be up before noon,” Danny snickered. He took the beer anyway.

Jackson popped off the lid with a claw and tossed it with remarkable accuracy into the wastebasket before doing the same for his friend. He took a long draw off the German import. Danny had been right; he couldn’t get drunk unless he drank a hell of a lot more beer than they had in the room. And honestly, he didn’t even really like the taste. It was the act that pleased him. He wasn’t technically of legal age, but as he told Stiles during the spring semester — what’s the point of having power and wealth if you don’t use it.

“So … when are you going to apply to colleges?”

“Danny.” Jackson frowned. “Don’t harsh my buzz.”

“You’re not buzzed.”

“You know what I mean. We’re having fun.”

Danny hummed, reached over and switched off the game. “We were having fun, and now we’re going to talk.”

Jackson slowly put the remote control down on the ground. “Why?”

“Because, as much as I’ve enjoyed the last six months of peace and quiet, as much as I’ve enjoyed all the time we’ve spent together, I’m not incredibly stupid, so I frequently notice things.” 

“Anything in particular?”

“For example your utter lack of interest in colleges or careers or any decisions at all about your future.” Danny joked, trying to soften the blow.

“Did my parents put you up to this?”

“Absolutely. David called me the other night and we coordinated our approach — no, Jackson, this is just me.”

Jackson took another long pull from the bottle. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay okay. You want to talk about it. It’s simple. I don’t want to go. Not yet.”

Danny’s face lost none of its concern, but his lips thinned out.

“We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah. We’re more than okay, Danny. I feel we’re closer than we’ve ever been. Don’t you?”

“I think on the scale you’ve dropped to a one.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Jackson. Inside joke. Yeah, we’ve been better than good.”

“I can tell, but it's not just you and me. My parents and I are in a place where I can tell them I love them and not feel weird about it. I have a sister -- and I never thought I’d say this, but I really dig having a younger sister. Lydia and I hang out all the time. Scott and I are stupidly close. I feel strangely protective of Liam and Kira. I even have a boyfriend —”

Danny chuckled. “Yeah. That always makes me go wow.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, no, I wasn’t starting. I can totally see how it works between you.” Danny shook his head slowly. “I also can totally see how it’s the sign of the coming Apocalypse.”

Jackson laughed out loud, because sometimes he felt that way as well.

“We’ve been dating for seven months, but it still feels like it’s a new thing. I feel like it’s an achievement, and I feel like it’s a gift at the same time,” Jackson finally admitted. “We’ve been broken, but the broken piece fit together.”

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Jackson shoved Danny playfully. “Come on.”

“I mean it.” Danny looked at him seriously. “Before you left for London, the most you would have said about your feelings for Stiles Stilinski of all people would have been that you were everyone’s type.”

“I am.”

“Physically, yes. But that’s …”

And with the slight tremor in his friend’s voice, it was Jackson’s turn to get serious. “Are you saying that I’m your type?”

Danny shrugged. It was an evasion. 

“I mean it, Danny. Are you attracted to me … now?”

“You’re much less of a jerk, but I’m not the type of a person to make a play for someone in a relationship.”

Jackson felt his jaw drop, stunned, and then he started laughing once more. “I would never, ever do that to you. Danny, believe me, I would never be such a low, despicable human being as to inflict myself on you _romantically._ ”

“You can’t be that bad. Stiles is happy with you.”

“Stiles is a special case. You remember the dynamic I had with Lydia, where we pushed each other to be better? It was toxic because we were pushing in order to exert control over the other person. The goal — the ends we were pushing the other to reach — Homecoming Queen or Professional Lacrosse Player — weren’t things that either of us actually wanted, but something that we thought would make the other person happy enough to stick with us.”

Danny nodded. “I could have told you that.”

“You did tell me that, but I didn’t listen. We’re going to put a pin in that, because I want to get back to what being your friend means. But, for now, the point is my dynamic with Stiles is the same as it was Lydia. Only this time, the things we are pushing each other toward are things we _need_ to be pushed toward.” Jackson scrunched up his face. “That didn’t come out right. Stiles pushes me to accept who I am and what I’ve done. He doesn’t care about the blood on my hands. He doesn’t care about my bullying him in the past. He only cares that I love him and I want to love him, and he cares that I don’t hurt myself or get down on myself. I push him to discard this stupid notion he has that he’s … worse than everyone else.”

“Huh?”

“Stiles thinks he’s garbage. He always has. He doesn’t want to be, but he can’t seem to convince himself that he isn’t. I don’t let him get away with that. As if I would deign to be with _garbage._ ”

Danny thought about it and then nodded. “I can see that.”

“We’re good for each other. It’s not something you see every day, but it turns out our worst traits are complimentary.”

“And me?”

“You’re my friend. It’s …” Jackson whistled. “Okay, this is going to sound bad. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to work.”

“Oh, it doesn’t sound bad. I know what you mean.”

“I had to work to regain your friendship when I first got back from London, but when we’re friends — when we’re good — I don’t even have to think about things I have to think about with Stiles or Lydia or even Scott. That doesn’t mean I can’t be an asshole, it means that on those days when I just _have_ to be an asshole, what I don’t have to worry about is you. You’ll either take it, or you’ll smack me upside the head, or you’ll leave, but you’ll always come back.”

Danny blushed. 

“If we never changed one inch from where I am for the rest of my life, you’d be my friend and I’d be yours.”

“But is that healthy?” Danny asked. “Someone has to call you out on your shit.”

“I’ve got Stiles for that. I’ve got Scott for that. I’ve got Lydia for that, whether I want that or not. You’re my best friend.”

“I’m still going to call you out on your shit, but I’ve got your back too.”

“Fair enough, and I’ll do the same.”

With a snort, Danny sipped at his beer. “I have no shit. I’m perfect.”

“Yeah.” There was a moment of silence.

“Should we hug?”

“Fuck off.”

**~*~**

The morning shone bright, the asphalt was already beginning to heat up, and the home room bell wouldn’t ring for another twenty minutes.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jackson grated as he cornered Scott between the busses in the back parking lot. Few students wanted to loiter in the lot where they get the surplus buses, so the pack used it as an impromptu meeting place. 

Scott fought off a yawn and then squinted back at him. “Last night was your Danny night. You’ve threatened us with violence if we interrupted you on Danny night.”

“I was kidding!” Jackson exclaimed. “You get that, right? If something important is happening to the pack, I won’t really punch you in the kidneys if you call me.”

“Danny’s your best friend, Jackson.”

“Being that I’ve known him since I wore diapers, I am well aware of that, but he can certainly cope with the realities of me being in a pack.”

“But he shouldn’t have to!” Scott exclaimed. “I mean, he should sometimes, but he should come first sometimes as well. We’re not the military. We’re not superheroes. We’re certainly not getting paid for this.”

Jackson stepped forward into Scott’s space; Scott raised his chin in response. “What if someone had gotten hurt and I wasn’t there?”

“This wasn’t the Alpha Pack. It was just one murderous wolf — probably an omega. None of the pack was in danger. Stiles stayed with his father the whole time. Lydia, Malia, and Kira went straight home after the deputies got their statements.” Scott shrugged. “I’m far more worried about Tracy than us. No one can seem to find her.”

“You forgot someone.”

“Liam and Mason weren’t even involved.”

One eyebrow crawled up the side of Jackson’s forehead in a passable imitation of a Hale Eyebrow of Condemnation. 

“I’m an alpha, Jackson. I’d be fine.”

“That’s exactly what some dumbass alpha would say right before getting ripped apart by a lucky omega. We’re a pack for a reason.”

Scott sighed again. “Look—”

“No, _you_ look. You can’t think like that, and you’re going to stop it or we’re going to have a problem. As much as it I’d rather rip my tongue out of my mouth than say it, we need you.” 

“That did look hard to say.”

“Shut up. You aren’t Stiles — don’t try to distract people with humor. You’re horrible at it. But we don’t need you to be a comedian, we need you to be our alpha. And you’re not our alpha because you can solve every problem by yourself, something you’re usually pretty good at remembering.”

“I don’t think I can solve every problem by yourself.” Scott scoffed at the idea.

“Then you call me if there’s danger — any danger — no matter if I’m with my parents, with Danny, with Stiles, whenever!”

Scott’s jaw shifted a little as his stubborn streak emerged. “You need to be able to have some time to yourself.”

“I have plenty of time to myself. Do you need some time to yourself?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean—” Jackson was interrupted by the pair of them hearing the clamorous approach of the rest of the pack. 

Scott slid out and around him as the others appeared around the corner. Scott may have been the only one openly yawning, but all of them looked a little worse for wear. None of them seemed like they wanted to be at school, except for one.

“Okay,” Scott began, “I know we are all tired and miserable …”

Jackson chuckled and Scott glanced at him with a twist of his lip and then shifted his attention to Liam’s friend, Mason, who was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. 

“Except for you two.”

“That’s your own damn fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Mason enthused. “This is all just mind blowing!” 

Liam’s friend exuberance made Jackson hide a smile behind his hand. No one else was pleased. Jackson didn’t see what harm it caused. Someone might as well get some enjoyment out of this.

Mason turned to Kira. “You’re a kitsune. I don’t even know what that is!”

Kira flustered at him, not knowing how to take the excitement. “I’m still learning.” 

Jackson walked over and patter Kira reassuringly on the shoulder. Scott smiled tiredly at him. 

Stiles, on the other hand, was not in the mood. “Liam, we told you could tell him, not invite him to the Inner Circle.”

“I’m … in … the Inner Circle?”

“No!” Liam and Stiles answered together.

“Absolutely,” Jackson countered. “We’ll show you the secret knock and get you measured for your jacket later today.” 

“You’re enjoying this far too much.” Stiles glared at him across the hood of the bus.

“Yep.”

“Okay, we’re getting sidetracked. Jackson, tease Stiles later.” Scott tried to rein in the meeting.

“Party pooper.”

“We need to find Tracy. She’s just one wolf, and we don’t know what’s going on with her, so after school …”

“We’re going to school?” Liam demanded. He, too, felt left out of last night’s actions. 

“After school, we’re going to find her and we’re going to help her.”

There were several frowns throughout the group at that. Scott noticed. 

“Lydia said she might be having mental problems, which means that she might not be in control of herself.”

Lydia nodded in agreement. “There’s no _might_ about it. She’s being treated for parasomnia by a licensed psychiatrist. She is having mental problems.”

“I hate to be a wet blanket—” Stiles began.

“Do you?” Malia sniped at him. She had been frowning the most at the announcement that they were going to help Tracy. 

“But her mental problems could arise because she is a werewolf without a pack. If an unstable omega was drawn here by the Nemeton, we may not be able to help her.”

Lydia shook her head. “Tracy was born here. If she was a born werewolf, why wouldn’t we know it?”

“I didn’t know,” offered Malia. “How many other unwanted Hale babies did Talia dump on the local adoption agency?” 

Jackson grimaced at that. Malia wasn’t being bitter; every word she said was true even if they weren’t kind.

“Apparently it was their thing.” Stiles observed. “I did a little digging …”

No one was surprised.

“Apparently Mr. Hale — Talia’s husband and Derek’s father — ran the local adoption agency. You remember, Malia, how the adoption file Peter had about you was a little thin?”

“Yeah, it was pretty much useless.”

“Not a coincidence. A number of sealed files were in the Hale House when it burned. The Hales used the agency to place children from other communities. Apparently, he always kept an eye on them. He just didn’t see Kate coming.”

“So there could be other supernatural children that we don’t know about,” Liam sputtered.

“Not that many. Meredith identified most of them with the Dead Pool, but there were some names on the list that we never found.” Stiles shrugged. 

“It’s a problem for another day,” Scott interrupted. “We find Tracy and help her. The rest can wait.” 

The bell rung out, summoning them all to home room. Jackson went up to Scott and snagged his sleeve.

“We’re not done.”

“Fine.” Scott sighed. “We’ll talk about it … after we get Tracy.”

Jackson watched him leave until everyone was in school except Lydia.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I have one class this semester, but you knew that. We’re going to look for her now.” 

“Okay. My car’s over there.”

They walked quietly to the car. It looked like it was going to be a good day. 

Lydia ruined that by asking the question. “What’s up between you and Scott?”

“Oh, I’m going to have to kick his ass.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t call me last night.”

His ex-girlfriend glanced over at him. “I see. That’s between you and him.” 

“Damn right.”

Lydia waved her hand. “No need to get snippy with me.”

“I’m not. And you don’t need to take this personally.”

“I am taking nothing personally.”

Jackson opened up the Porsche’s car door for her. “You did everything you could yesterday for Tracy. This is not your fault.”

Lydia didn’t say anything but primly sat down in the passenger’s side door. Jackson circled around and got in beside her. 

“Do you hear me?”

“Just drive, and stop being such a pain.”

**~*~**

They spent all morning, but they weren’t able to find a sign of Tracy. They checked out her house, now a crime scene; Jackson managed to pick up her scent on the roof and follow it through the streets until it disappeared into the damnable sewer tunnels. They went down, but he soon lost it in the vast array of smells.

“Not a coincidence.”

“No.” Lydia face contorted as she picked her way very carefully up out of the sewer. “Very few things in this town are coincidences. Just once, though, I’d like the villains to be hiding in a dress boutique.” 

Jackson nodded. “Too much to hope for.” He wrangled the sewer lid back into place. “Should I take you back to school?”

“Might as well. Maybe I can wheedle some information out of my mother.”

“What would she know?”

“If she did her due diligence, she might have gotten the name of Tracy’s therapist. If we’re feeling particularly larcenous, we could break into their office.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with my boyfriend.” Jackson turned at the tenor of Lydia’s voice. “Trouble at home?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I should go home.”

“I was going to the school anyway.” He started walking back to the car, Lydia following him. “I promised Stiles and Malia we’d meet for lunch so I can laugh at how tired they are.”

He heard the click of Lydia’s heels behind him and the slightly elevated pulse. She was angry; he could smell it. 

“Sometimes I think my mother knows …”

“She knows about everything?”

Lydia hummed her affirmation. “And I think she thinks that she’s protecting herself — protecting me — by pretending that certain things she’s witnessed weren’t real.” 

“It might be safest, you never know.”

“Not for me. I can’t stop being what I am, so sticking my head in the sand is not an option.” Lydia’s voice took on a firm quality. “And not for other people. She’s in a position of authority and influence.”

“So what do you plan to do about it?”

“I’m not sure. Given her beliefs about my grandmother, confrontation might not be the way to go. Given this is senior year, I could try ignoring it.”

“The Stilinski Method.” Jackson joked as he reached the car. 

“Stiles isn’t like that anymore.”

“He is exactly like that.” 

Lydia looked over at him in surprise. “Are you angry with him?”

Jackson shook his head, but Lydia couldn’t hear the lies he told himself. He wasn’t angry exactly; he was worried. Stiles’ frustration from the other night wasn’t going to go away as long as he felt that his friendship with Scott was jeopardized, but Jackson couldn’t see that going away until Stiles actually talked to Scott about why he was so adamant that Theo was bad news. No matter how worried Jackson was, there were lines you shouldn’t cross in a relationship, and that meant that Jackson could only press Stiles so hard on being in denial.

“It’s just stress.” 

They parked at the school, Lydia went off to her class, and Jackson brought Stiles and Malia’s lunch to the bleachers where they normally sat. The day was warm and beautiful. Malia and Stiles were there within minutes after the class bell rang. Malia jumped on the lunches while Stiles leaned up and gave Jackson a peck on the cheek. 

“What was that?” Jackson looked offended. 

“Oh. So bossy.” 

“Yes, I am.” Jackson pulled Stiles up and gave him a real kiss. It made his worry about the other boy fade away for the moment. 

“So,” Malia asked around a mouth full of chicken salad, “any luck?”

Stiles immediately became all sharp eyes and ears, but he deflated as Jackson shook his head. 

“We’ll find her.”

Stiles muttered something about spending the entire day at school while Tracy could be anywhere. 

“Stiles, you said you had something to show me?” Malia perked up.

Whatever it was must not have been that pleasant, because Stiles’ face fell as he acknowledged that he did have something and pull out his phone. “Yeah. It’s not really good alright.”

Jackson looked over his chicken salad sandwich, interested.

“Braeden sent me this the other day. It’s about your mother.” 

Jackson took a bite of the sandwich and chewed. After discovering her biological father, the absent and unlamented Peter Hale, Malia had become interested in finding the Desert Wolf. Jackson, for his part, wasn’t at all _interested_ in Malia finding the woman he had fought with San Francisco, so he refused to aid the search. Neither Malia nor Stiles had broached the subject with him. Maybe they though he was touchy about his own biological mother.

Stiles handed Malia the phone. Her face wrinkled as she stared at it. Obviously, she was trying to process what she was seeing. 

“My mother did this?”

“Yeah. Braeden said they were bad men though. Human traffickers.”

“So they deserve it.”

The grimace on Stiles’ face told Jackson all he needed to know. “I’m not sure anyone deserved that.”

“Let me see.” Jackson set his sandwich down and held out his hand. When Malia handed it to him, he looked over the scene of carnage. It looked like both guns and claws. “Why would the Desert Wolf go after slavers?”

“It wasn’t altruism,” Stiles reported. “Braeden said they decided to make runs without paying proper bribes to the right people, so the Desert Wolf was called into make an example out of them.”

That matched what Jackson had encountered in San Francisco. A brother had hired Corinne to kill another brother who was abusing the family legacy. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Malia asked, nudging his knee with her own. 

“It’s pretty disturbing.”

Malia shrugged. “I didn’t think you were squeamish.”

“I’m not.”

The werecoyote wouldn’t let it go. “Then why the reaction?”

Jackson ran his tongue across his teeth. There was no way they could figure out the truth if he didn’t say anything, and Mr. Argent was all the way in France. This was a white lie, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. 

Stiles saved him from having to think something up. “He’s worried about you. I guess he’s worried about both of us.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “Why?”

“We’ve been digging pretty deeply. You pull on strings, sometimes they pull back, but, Jackson, you have to trust that Braeden and I are being really careful.”

“Yeah.” Jackson offered weakly. “That’s it.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t know. I’ve spent all my life not knowing about my birth parents, and not knowing seems to screw people up.”

Jackson grimaces. “Thanks.” Stiles gripped his arm reassuringly.

“It did with you. So, I want to know. I want to know all about her.”

Malia took the phone back. Jackson glanced over at Stiles. 

“I promised I would help, and … she’s right, Jackson. She should know.”

Jackson took a deep breath. The chance that Corinne would come to a rinky-dink town like Beacon Hills with the Dead Pool over and the abundance of bad memories was small, no matter what the woman had seen on the printed-out list from last winter.

“Well, we know one thing,” Malia observed, studying the pile of corpses. “She’s good at her job.”


	6. Dreamcatchers (Part 2: Let Me Know If You Find One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanima versus Ex-Kanima: Fight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialogue from the episode.

Jackson couldn’t find a damn parking space near the clinic this time of the day, but he would never park his baby in that filthy alleyway. It was bothersome to walk the three blocks, so he jogged there. It was probably an urgent matter, after all. He had gotten a text from Scott requesting his presence, and a text from Stiles demanding it. He had taken the time to text them back while he was at stoplights, but they had never replied. He thought about complaining about the paucity of information, but he had just take a stand about Scott about not calling him. He didn’t mind being hypocritical once in a while, but he despised being obvious about it.

Opening the door rang the bell, immediately causing Stiles to pop his head out of the back room. “Get in here.”

“Maybe you might want to tell me what’s going on?” Jackson hurried after Stiles’ retreating form.

“Tracy Stewart showed up to Mr. Yukimura’s sophomore history class.” His boyfriend commented dryly as they returned to where Dr. Deaton was taking an unconscious girl’s vital signs. 

“She’s a senior.”

“Exactly.” Stiles gestured to the girl lying on the table. “She’s also filthy, barefoot, and a multiple murderer. What is up with all the barefoot female killers?”

That drew Scott’s attention from where he had been helping Deaton. “We don’t know what’s going on with her, so let’s not lump her in with Kali just yet.”

“Heart rate is 250.” Deaton observed clinically. “Evidence of an allogeneic skin graft on her right shoulder.”

Jackson walked over to the table in order to get a better look. As he remembered, Tracy was very attractive; her hair, particularly, was simply marvelous. On the other hand, as Stiles had snarked, she looked like she had had a rough few nights recently. As he studied her with the same intent as the others, Jackson suddenly felt something strange slide around his gizzard and down through his lungs. He had to take a step back. It was like he was about to throw up, yet his stomach was fine.

“Now, this silver substance at her lips is not something I’ve seen. It almost looks like mercury.” Deaton frowned in bafflement.

Almost identical frowns joined his from the four others in the room, but Jackson realized that he must have looked nauseous. Stiles looked over at him, his face creasing with worry. _Are you okay?_ He mouthed.

Jackson nodded, a little too vigorously. His insides shifted once again. What was wrong with him?

“Uh … can’t you give her a shot or something?” Malia asked. 

“She doesn’t seem to be in any pain.”

“I meant a shot to kill her.” 

Jackson, eager to distract himself from wherever this weird feeling crawling through his guts, went over to Malia. He gave her his best reproachful look, but she wasn’t interested in relenting. 

Deaton’s tone was perfectly deadpan. “I subscribe to a code of ethics that usually frown on such methods.”

“We outnumber her, even if she tries something,” Jackson reassured her. “We’re safe.”

Scott looked like he was about to say something as well, but at Jackson’s words he nodded in support and turned back to examining Tracy.

“I don’t like it.” Malia frowned. “She bothers me. I don’t know why.”

Jackson encouraged her to keep talking with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

“I’ve seen her around school, and I’ve never felt anything from her. I’ve never seen anything that made me think she’s like us.” 

“Some creatures can conceal their scent.” 

“I know that, but it doesn’t help!” Malia exclaimed. “In the forest, if you can’t sense predators, you die!” 

Dr. Deaton turned away from his examination. “While I might frown on euthanasia, but I don’t think it’s out of the question to set up a little extra protection.” With that he tossed mountain ash from a jar. It billowed through the air and sealed the doorway. 

“How does that help us?” Malia whispered. 

“If she causes problems, Deaton and Stiles can get out of the room while you, Scott and I handle her.” 

Malia touched the plane of the ash and marveled at the weird distortion effect. “Weird. Wait, what if we can’t handle her?”

Jackson looked back at where the alpha was studying a broken scalpel the chagrined veterinarian was holding up. “Then Scott breaks the line and we run like hell.”

Scott turned at the sound of his name, once again. “I’ll get us out if I have to.” 

Letting go of his hand, Malia headed toward the table in order to get a better look at the mystery. Scott gestured for Stiles and Jackson to huddle with him in another corner of the room. “Any ideas?” Scott asked Stiles hopefully. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got nothing yet.” Stiles tried for slightly apologetic but also reassuring, but Scott and Jackson caught the waver in his tone. 

“Are you sure?” Scott asked again, trying to draw Stiles out.

“Yes!” Stiles snapped irritability. 

Before Scott could press the issue, his phone range and he stepped away to answer it. It was Melissa, so Jackson purposefully dulled his hearing as to not to eavesdrop. Instead, he stepped closer to Stiles. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles glanced back at the injured girl on the table. He shifted his stance, uncomfortably. “Eventually, I’m going to have to call my dad. She killed two people.”

“That’s not the only thing bothering you.”

“Have you felt anything off … about her?”

Jackson had been trying to suppress the weird sensations that he had felt. He should be open; he should tell Stiles, but he tried to laugh it off instead. “Other than the fact that she has impervious skin and she’s drooling mercury, not really.” It was a lie, a harmless white lie. He could feel his nerves slither, loose and at odds, whenever he got close to Tracy Stewart. “And you?”

“Hrrrm.” Stiles hummed in an attempt at deflection.

“Another feeling, like the one—”

“We are not having that conversation here and now!” Stiles hissed. “We’re not complicating an already overcomplicated situation.”

Over on the table, Deaton steadfastly ignored them while asking Malia to help him flip the unconscious Tracy over.

Scott came back, pocketing the phone. “That was my mom. The prison transport driver is awake and talking to the doctors. They say he didn’t have a stroke or a heart attack, but he felt as if he were paralyzed.”

“Paralyzed?” Stiles drew his lips into a thin line. Wheels turned. “She’s got parasomnia.”

“How is that connected?” Scott asked in confusion. 

“Night terrors can lead to sleep deprivation. Both of them can cause amnesia and disorientation.” Stiles glanced over to the table. “I think I know what she is.”

Dr. Deaton interrupted his stunned examination of the girl’s back. “Would you mind sharing? Because this doesn’t look too good.” 

The three of them went back to the table, stirred by the disquiet in the veterinarian’s voice. Tracy’s back had been exposed and her flesh rippled sinuously on a line down her spine. As it did so, Jackson felt an echoing writhing motion in his own back. It couldn’t be. 

“Break the line.” Jackson’s voice cracked, and he experienced a surge of fear, followed by a surge of anger that he would be so afraid. His pulse raced and his breathing quickened. Scott and Malia sensed it immediately, looking at him in concern. “Break it now!”

“Jackson, what …” Stiles began in confusion.

Tracy’s back opened up, sending a spray of dark tissues through the air, spraying both Scott and Dr. Deaton in the face. Jackson staggered back; his body was reacted in sympathy with Tracy’s and he couldn’t decide what was worse — the familiar feel of his flesh parting or the accompanying traumatic memories it brought with it. He staggered back against the metal counter, holding his flesh together with willpower alone. 

Jumping up, Tracy lead with her tail lashing out, a move that Jackson knew intimately. It was scarily easy to recognize the flow of muscles over bone. The tail hit Stiles first in the chest, and Jackson’s breath caught in his throat. Deaton caught the next glancing blow before the appendage scraped its way up Malia’s arm. 

Scott tried to maneuver into a flanking position. “Jackson! Help me grab her!”

But Jackson couldn’t move. He couldn’t go near her without his muscled contracting. It’s like Tracy and him were on the same wavelength. 

Tracy struck Scott across the face, tearing through the skin and muscles. The scent of the alpha’s blood filled the air and scraps of skin hung off Scott’s face like red flags. Shaking off his fright, Jackson took two steps forward and raised his hands to grab her, but she sliced his palm deep to the bone. 

Malia had fallen back into the corner, while Deaton and Stiles had flopped like dead fish to the ground. Scott was trying to keep standing, but the venom worked its way through his body too fast for his metabolism to compensate. Jackson felt his legs go out from under him and fall to the ground himself. Tracy, for her part, surveyed the room for enemies, hissing. Finding none, she rushed toward the door and, shockingly, went right through the mountain ash line.

“She’s not a werewolf!” Stiles cried out. 

“Kanima.” Scott answered him completely unnecessarily. Everyone knew with what they were dealing. 

If someone else had come into the place, that person would have found the situation either hilarious or dangerously creepy. Four teenagers and a grown man lay motionless on the floor. The humor escaped the ones were down on the ground. Jackson was face up on the floor, staring at the ceiling. 

Conversation broke out almost immediately. Stiles started yelling at Deaton, demanding to know how Tracy was able to get through the mountain ash. Malia was shouting about how they should have killed her. Scott was trying to get people to calm down and think.

“Meanwhile,” Stiles groused, “She’s probably on her way to kill someone else.”

“We have to do something!” Scott’s face was red with the effort of trying to move.

The veterinarian’s voice was cool. “Jackson, you have to go after her.”

Jackson snorted in exasperation. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m paralyzed too!”

Deaton paused for a moment, weighing his next words. “But you don’t have to be.”

“What?” demanded Stiles.

A kanima can’t be paralyzed by its own venom, but obviously the Emissary was suggesting that a kanima couldn’t be paralyzed by another kanima, either. When is a kanima not a kanima? When it’s Jackson. 

“You don’t know if that would even work.” Jackson replied hotly. 

“I don’t like being ignorant of things,” Deaton replied. “After the trouble we had during Scott’s sophomore year, I spent a lot of time and effort filling the gaps in my knowledge. It should be possible—”

“I don’t want it to be possible!”

Malia, having still been in the woods during his junior year and panicking a little bit, shouted. “Why not?”

Stiles couldn’t move his head, but he could register his dislike. “He shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Jackson.” Scott’s voice was soft. “Please. She’s probably going after someone to kill them. Maybe she’s not aware what she’s doing. Maybe she’s under the control of whoever killed Belasko. Remember what that felt like. If you can help her, you’ve got to try. Please.” 

Jackson gritted his teeth against the terror. Every part of him that he had found since Lydia had called him back did not want to risk reversion.

“You’re afraid of it,” Scott said, “but this isn’t like before. You’ll be in control. You know what she’s going through; you can help her.”

He closed his eyes. Stupid alpha werewolves being right. So annoying. “Doc,” Jackson said, “tell me what to do.”

“Werewolves say that the shape you take reflects the person that you are. Occultists rephrase that to be as within, so without. The kanima form was a manifestation of inner turmoil. While you may have grown beyond that turmoil, the memories of it are still part of you. Focus. Remember how your body felt, remember how your mind felt. Call it back. Scott is right, when you do manage to recall it, you will be in control and you can stop feeling like that anytime you choose.”

It wasn’t as hard as it might have seemed. Tracy’s body had resonated with his, in some strange way, and so he had the old sense memories to call upon. All he had to do now was recapture the feelings that had created it. But they had been buried deep. So deep.

Jackson dug down to them, and to do that he had to push so many things out of the way.

He had to push past how Alexandrina’s wisdom had made him feel stable.

He had to push past the easy banter he now had with Liam. 

The claws of a kanima are different than the claws of a werewolf — thinner, sharper, longer, with grooves to carry venom.

He had to push past the way Kira felt comfortable coming to him for advice.

He had to push past the respect and affection he now shared with Lydia.

The scales of a kanima are like armor, capable of deflecting blades and grazing bullets.

He had a new sister in Malia and an old best friend in Danny.

He had a mother and a father who always had a place for him, and whom he had found a place for in return.

The tail of a kanima is prehensile and it is also useful for balance.

He had in Scott someone who he could follow — not a master but an alpha.

And Stiles.

He had in Stiles, love. There, he said it.

The eyes of a kanima are seldom fooled. 

Jackson’s slitted eyes glowed yellow. He stood up, as if there had never been any venom. He looked down at Stiles, but he heard Scott.

“Jackson,” the paralyzed alpha pleaded, “save her.”

With that Jackson left, sprinting out of the back room and pausing only for a second to find and follow her trail. His sense of smell normally was second only to the alpha’s. Now that he was less human and more in tune with his animalistic nature, he could identify the chemical odor that she shared with Belasko, and he could follow her trail quiet easily.

The fact that she had a scent bothered him, though. Scott had told him that he didn’t have much of one when he had been the kanima. Why would Tracy share a scent marker with Belasko? 

But that was going to have to wait, because Tracy was making her way quickly across the city. She kept to alleys, obviously having enough self-awareness to avoid being spotted at the main thoroughfares. He didn’t have any idea of her destination or her target. Most likely, her master was out there waiting in the darkness, and they were probably the same master who had cleaved Belasko in half after he had been defeated.

Running through the shadow-covered back ways of Beacon Hills was nothing new to him. He had done it plenty of times during that dark time on some dark task or another. It was sheer irony that he was doing it now to save someone else. McCall was going to owe him.

The kanima’s place had slowed, entering an area where she’d have more trouble avoiding intersections and street lights. But her path had become less variable and more focused, arcing in graceful curves across the cityscape. She had been looking for someone, and she was suddenly having an easy time finding them. 

He began to stalk her, anticipating where she would go. He needed to corner her somewhere there wasn’t going to be a lot of eyes.

His phone rang, and he almost jumped in surprise. Jackson bit his tongue to avoid screaming in frustration. He pulled it out and saw that it was Lydia. 

He hissed into the phone, “Not a good time.”

“Jackson! Wait!” Lydia’s voice was urgent. “Where are you? Why can’t I get Scott on the phone?”

Jackson suddenly remembered that he had left his sister, his boyfriend, his alpha, and a very helpful vet lying on the floor with nothing between them and the outside but a broken line of mountain ash. Hopefully, nothing dangerous or sinister would find them there. “I think they’re paralyzed and can’t answer.”

“Paralyzed?”

“Tracy’s a kanima.”

Lydia cursed over the phone, but it was a half-hearted curse, because realization sharply overtook the emotional response. “Listen to me very carefully, Jackson. This is very important.” 

“Okay, but can you hurry up, I’m trying to track her down without her being aware of me. I want to get the drop on her.”

“Tracy’s think she’s still asleep. She thinks she’s dreaming.” Lydia sounded like she was getting into a car, slamming the door. “She’s confused and trying to hurt those who are trying to help her.”

“She doesn’t know who she is,” Jackson breathed. 

“She’s going after my mother, Jackson. She killed her father and her psychiatrist, people who were trying to help her. She’s been seeing my mother at school.” 

Jackson was suddenly aware of the hidden panic in Lydia’s voice. “I’m not going to let your mom get hurt. Where’s she now?”

“On a date with the sheriff.”

“I gotta go.” The sheriff’s station was directly on the path that Tracy was taken. It wasn’t coincidence that there was only one way Tracy could have known where Natalie was — her master was telling her. He had to move quickly now, but he could move even faster now that he knew the destination. 

Jackson arrived at the building at a dead run. It took only a moment to see her, climbing up the wall of the station away from the cameras and slithering up to the roof. She’d attack from above.

“Oh, no you don’t!”

Jackson wasn’t particularly taller but he was certainly bigger than Tracy and her little stick-figure legs. He also had the benefit of training and knowledge. He literally scampered up the side of the building better than the world champion of parkour could do it. The claws helped.

Tracy turned on him the minute he reached the roof. She had been working at opening a skylight, seeking a way into the building, and Jackson hadn’t been particularly stealthy in his ascent. He didn’t want to be stealthy; he wanted her attention. She hiss-roared at him, eyes flashing.

He flashed right back at her. “Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She charged at him. She was an instinctual fighter, just as he had been back when he had first turned. It was all attack with little thought for defense mostly because of the armor the scales gave them but also because, for most opponents, a single scratch would render them helpless. The measured back and forth of a deliberate fight didn’t favor the lizard. 

Which meant in this fight he’d certainly have the advantage. He could take a rake from her claws or a slash from her tail and not go down. She could do the same, but he had trained to fight with real werewolves. When she overextended, he knocked her down; when she exposed her flank, he clipped her hard. Her skin was still mostly impervious to his claws, so none of it would bring permanent damage. Instead, he was hoping that pain would snap her out of it, or, better yet if Lydia was right, convince her that she wasn’t asleep. 

He wore her down eventually. Her only truly devastating attack was her venom, and he was immune. She paused, hesitating, after her tenth lunge.

“Tracy? You know me, don’t you?” Of course she knew him. Everyone knew Jackson Whittemore.

Her tail lashed back and forth, unsure of herself. 

“You do know me. We don’t have to fight, and you don’t have to do this. You’re not dreaming, and you don’t have to obey whoever is telling you to do this.”

Tracy’s eyes blinked, glowing yellow. Then they blinked again and they were her normal color. 

Jackson nodded. Scott had been right. Helping her would feel so very good. “Okay, so what say we get off this stupid roof and …”

How did he miss the man standing beside her? Jackson could have sworn that they were the only two people on the roof, but suddenly there was a man standing next to her. Not just a normal looking man, but some steam-punk dandy with a metal and leather mask, a walking cane, and something that looked like a gun with a needle on it. This crazed cosplayer grabbed Tracy and sank the needle gun into her neck.

“What the fuck!” Jackson dropped his claws. “Get away from her!” 

Before he could lunge, someone had grabbed him by the neck. Another figure, dressed in coarse dark gray clothes and wearing a completely leather mask. Hoses ran from the mask to his collar. Jackson struggled; this asshole was strong. 

Tracy was beginning to seize already, mercury fluid pouring from her nose and mouth.

“Stop that! What are you doing?”

The strange lens like contraptions switched back and forth on the first mad scientist’s mask. “Following protocol. Her condition is terminal.”

Jackson reached back and scarped his claws across the face plate of the person holding him. The man didn’t even stagger. Instead, the taller freak dragged him back about five feet, and scrabbled to stop him. With a heave, the other person launched him into the air. 

It was a strange feeling, the split second of weightlessness as he fell from the top of the Sheriff’s roof. It was almost peaceful.

Then he smashed into the roof of a police cruiser and right into an impenetrable darkness.

**~*~**

When his eyes fluttered open, the first thing he heard was Stiles and his father screaming at each other. The first thing he saw was Scott leaning over him, checking on his wounds and taking his pain. Malia was crouched next to him as well, looking worried. Over Scott’s shoulder, he could make out Theo studying him dispassionately, while in the distance the sheriff, Lydia, Deaton, and Stiles were holding a very energetic conversation.

“What happened? Where are they?”

“Where are who?” Malia said.

“Assholes hurt Tracy. Threw me off the roof.”

Scott’s eyes moved off Jackson’s face, filled with regret. “Tracy’s dead.”

Jackson’s fists clenched. It didn’t sting much at all, though he was far from completely healed. “I tried. I fucking tried.”

“I know you did. No one’s blaming you, Jackson.”

Jackson struggled to sit up. 

Malia tried to push him back down. “Stop. You’re not healed.”

“I’m healed enough to find those fetish-gimps and pound the shit out of them. They were the same ones, Scott, the same ones who sent Belasko after you. The same ones that killed him.”

“How do you know?”

Jackson snarled, but both Scott and Malia were holding him now. “They all have the same smell about them.” 

“Okay,” Scott soothed. “We’ll figure out what to do, but you lay there until you are completely healed. Got it?” Scott stood up and turned to Theo. “Thanks for your help getting us here.”

Theo shrugged easily. “Thank you for letting me help.” Scott turned away and took a step toward Stiles. Theo looked down at Jackson and the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “I mean, trying to save a confused girl is the _least_ anyone could do.”

Scott was focused on the fight between Stiles, his father, and the veterinarian, something about the law being the law. Malia hadn’t quite picked up on the way Theo had said it. Jackson had, and Theo knew he had. Jackson scowled at the new werewolf from his place on the ground and Theo lifted an eyebrow in return. If that’s how this bitch wanted to play things, he’d find Jackson more than willing to handle him, too.

Jackson wasn’t Scott or Stiles — he knew when someone was angling to replace him. He had been popular once. Theo would want to bring his a-game if he tried, because Jackson had plenty of experience putting punks like that in their place.


	7. Conditional Terminal (Part 1: Shakes You to the Core)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Jackson calling upon the kanima's power and the death of Tracy Stewart, the members of the McCall pack are left shaken.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Parrish looked Jackson over with incredulity. The deputy had arrived soon after the conclusion of the fight with Tracy, and Stilinski had given him the task of herding everyone involved in the fight on the roof into a room. Officially, it was to get their statements; unofficially, it was to get their stories straight. Stilinski had been put in a bad position, because while Deaton and Scott had spirited Tracy Stewart’s body away in order to hide her claws, tail, and scales, there was no way to hide the Jackson-shaped indentation in a police cruiser.

There was also no way to hide that while everyone had been distracted by dealing with the aftermath, someone had spirited Donovan Donati out of his cell. In a perverse way, it was beneficial to the pack, for all the deputies had heard about the young man’s threats against the sheriff and were more focused on finding him rather than noting the discrepancies in Jackson’s story.

“I’m sure,” Jackson tried to brush off the deputy’s concern. He was uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat. It wasn’t because he had anything against the good-looking deputy; Parrish was risking his job for the pack. What bothered Jackson was that even as a beta werewolf, it should have taken longer for him to recover from those wounds, but he was back to perfect health already. The only answer was that he had healed faster because he had called upon the powers of the kanima.

He did not like what that said about him. He didn’t like anything about it at all.

In order to distract himself, he focused on Stiles and his father who were carrying on a spirited conversation on the necessity of following the law in the sheriff’s office — in other words, they were yelling at each other. 

“I’m going to go get some forms that we need you to sign,” Parrish announced to the room. “Wait right here.”

Jackson nodded in unison with Lydia, Kira, Malia, and Theo. They were arranged around the interrogation room with enough chairs for them all to sit down.

“What are we doing here?” Malia complained after a minute or so. 

“We’re witnesses,” Kira answered, unnecessarily. 

Theo snorted. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense to treat us that way.” The werecoyote stood up, pushing her chair back a few inches. “The only people who know that we saw anything were the Sheriff and Parrish, and they’re not going to tell the truth anyway. I’ve got things I’d rather be doing.”

“Malia, we have to do this.” The kitsune’s eyes darted away from Malia toward Jackson, looking for his support. “The only way we can keep our normal lives is by lying like this. If the truth comes out …”

Malia folder her arms across her chest. “You know, ever since you guys brought me out of the woods, I’ve spent a lot of time around regular people. I’ve learned what everyone else in the world thinks is normal, and our lives are not it. So I don’t see the point of lying to keep our _normal lives_ if we’re not going to have actual _normal lives.,_ ”

Theo shrugged. “She’s got a point.” Malia looked a little shocked but also a little pleased by the new guy’s support.

Lydia looked up at Malia, concerned. She had been oddly quiet.

“Okay, so we won’t get normal lives, but we can get as close to normal as possible,” Kira protested. “What’s the alternative?”

“We stop lying.” The coyote went for the door. “Especially to ourselves. Tell Parrish I’ll be back to sign my statement later.”

Jackson had watched this whole scene without saying anything. He had heard everything, and maybe he should have reassured his sister that it was worth it, but he had been distracted by his own thoughts. He studied his hands, trying to feel around inside himself for its presence. The confrontation between Kira and Malia had sounded far away, like a television show running in the background.

“Well, that’s great,” complained Kira, slumping back in her seat. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad,” Lydia said quietly. “She’s frustrated.”

Jackson snorted. It seemed to be going around.

The four of them sat quietly for a few minutes as the station buzzed around them. Jackson kept inspecting every inch of his hands and skin. Was he looking for scales? 

“Why should she be frustrated?” Kira said rather loudly and rather suddenly. A shade of embarrassment passed over her face immediately afterward, but then it faded away. She was angry.

Jackson and Lydia couldn’t keep the surprise off her faces. Theo’s eyebrows crawled up his face.

“She’s never had a normal life, so why is she so upset about not having one? I had one!” Kira’s eyes flickered their golden-orange. “I went to parties and had boyfriends did everything normal people did. I want to do those things again. Is that so bad?”

“I don’t think that is what Malia is saying--” Jackson started.

“She’s saying she doesn’t want to put the effort into making sure we get the chance. Well, I do. I want to go on a date with Scott and not have to worry about being attacked. I want to teach Malia to drive without having to take a short cut to the site of a double murder!” Kira gripped the sides of her chair.

“Harsh,” Theo snarked. 

Lydia wasn’t fast enough to banish the hurt from her face before Kira saw it. The kitsune’s anger withered like a salt-covered slug.

“I’m not blaming you for being a banshee. I’m not blaming anyone for being anything!” Kira explained, desperately. “If we were normal teenagers all the stuff I want to do -- going to the movies, going to parties, planning prom — wouldn’t be anything special. But being the things we are, we don’t get these things unless we work at it. All of us. You understand this, don’t you, Lydia?”

Lydia nodded, sadly. 

“You do, too, don’t you, Jackson?”

Jackson shrugged. “Sure.” But he wasn’t sure. Being normal had always been a thing other people have striven for. Jackson never wanted to be average. His goal had been to surpass the clods that followed him on the team and at the school. That really hadn’t changed, even if he had become less … manic about it. He enjoyed being in the pack. He understood what Kira meant, but he didn’t really share that feeling.

“Well.” Theo said carefully. Lydia and Kira looked at him. “I think … never mind.”

“No,” Kira encouraged, still embarrassed by her outburst. “Go on. You’re involved, too.”

“I think both of you want the same thing. You want to feel safe. I want that, too.”

Jackson’s brow crinkled. 

“Or, well, more likely you want to feel like you belong, but that means different things to each of you. You want what everyone else has, Kira, so you’ll do what you have to in order to get it, but like, Malia, she wants to stop feeling pressured to be something she isn’t in order to belong.”

The new kid glanced around, looking in everyone’s eyes for acknowledgment or perhaps approval.

The conversation was interrupted by Parrish’s return. He was brought up short at the door. “Where’s Malia?”

“She left.” Jackson pushed his intrusive thoughts about the kanima to the side. “She said she’ll come back and sign the statement later.”

Parrish frowned. “Well.” The deputy’s tone was judgmental without being harshly so. He distributed the statements for them to sign and then stood there waiting patiently for them to sign before collecting them. “Thank you for your time. I know it might seem like a bunch of wasted effort, but these are actually very helpful.”

Lydia’s face wrinkled as if she had swallowed a spoon of ground coffee. “I’m glad. I’d like to be helpful in some way tonight.”

“Lydia!” Jackson had never heard Lydia be so down on herself in public, _ever._

“It’s true.” Lydia’s voice was acid with self-loathing. “I went to her and offered her my help, and she accepted it. I brought you into it, deputy, and it was too late. I figured out was wrong with her, and it was too late. I went looking for her, and I found her too late.”

Jackson stood up. Theo had the seat next to Lydia, but Jackson gestured with his head and Theo shifted to the one vacated by Malia. Jackson sat down and tried to take Lydia’s hand. “You did your best.”

“She’s dead, Jackson.” Lydia burst into tears. “Maybe I can show up at her funeral in a t-shirt that reads _I Did My Best!_ ”

Theo opened his mouth to say something, but Jackson scowled him into silence. 

“Lydia.” Parrish hesitated. “I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind. Off the record.”

He sounded so earnest that Lydia nodded. Parrish pulled up a chair and sat it down so he could look Lydia in the face on her level. “I’ve told you a lot of things about my life, when you were helping me trying to figure out what I am. Remember?” 

Lydia nodded.

“I told you about me being in the army over in Afghanistan, but I didn’t the most important thing I learned over there.”

“You were a veteran?” Theo asked. Jackson shushed him. 

“Things there weren’t easy. Honestly, I don’t even know what it’s called anymore, if it’s a war or a police action, but our job there was to help stabilize the Afghani government and keep the Taliban from reasserting control over the country. You know, our country’s been there for ten years, and people keep dying. Their people. Our people. Bombs keep going off. Honestly, by the time I left, I wasn’t sure that what we were doing had been the right thing to do or not.”

“Are you trying to say we’re in a war?” Lydia snapped. “We’re not soldiers.”

“I know it’s not a perfect analogy,” Parrish admitted. “But I can’t help but think, when I listen to you, to all of you, that you sound like the soldiers I thought with over there. They thought that their best should have been enough. We were the United States army, for God’s sakes, the largest, most well trained, most technologically advanced military in the world, fighting an enemy that had been hiding in caves and farms for decades, and people we were protecting still died. Friends of mine still died.” 

Lydia dashed away the tears. “I don’t know why you though that this would be a comfort. All I’m hearing is that what I tried to do is meaningless.”

Theo opened his mouth once more and Jackson widened his eyes, a promise of violence if he put his two cents in now.

“You know I’m not saying that,” Parrish went on. “I am trying to say that it _means_ we did everything we could but people still died, yet that’s not the same as losing. It’s how the world works. All these supernatural powers that you — I guess, we — have don’t mean that you’re going to save everyone. But, you know there’s one truth that not even you can argue about with me.” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia replied. “I can argue very well.”

“As terrible as it is, when you fight to save people and fail, it is far more terrible when you don’t fight to save people at all, and you knew you could have.” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia whispered, and Jackson grabbed her hand to reassure her. “I don’t know how to fight.”

Theo spoke up finally. “Well, that’s something you can learn.”

“I could try to teach you,” offered Kira, “but most of what I know comes from my fox. I’m not sure if I’d be a good teacher.”

Parrish shook her head. “I’ll teach you, if you want me to. We learned hand-to-hand in the army, and I taught a few courses.”

Jackson, for a moment, thought about getting in the way, but then he held his tongue. Lydia and Parrish were plainly attracted to each other. Lydia need something fun to help her through this.

**~*~**

Jackson sat on the floor, his back up against the bed, as Gin Wigmore played on his stereo. He was leafing through the channel guide on his television, looking for something to occupy his time. He didn’t feel like an action movie, and he had never managed to watch a single episode of any reality show all the way through. He debated flipping on an episode of Game of Thrones. The last time he had tried to sit down and watch the Battle of Blackwater, he had been distracted by Stiles. He never had had a chance to go back and watch.

He stared at the channel guide, flipping around it as if it would change what was on the channels. Nothing sounded good. He was in a foul mood.

“No, I’m not,” he said aloud to his bedroom.

He wasn’t going to go down that road. He wasn’t a sophomore girl with pig tails and braces, throwing herself across her bed and whining about how unfair life was. Yesterday, his life had been great. What had changed since then? Nothing. Nothing at all had changed.

“Not a single thing.” He snarled to the empty space.

No one answered him. Suddenly, Jackson tossed the remote control to the floor with a little more violence than he should have, and he pulled himself to his feet. Maybe his mother would still be up. His father certainly shouldn’t be up at this time. David needed to get as much sleep as he could; his progress over this last year had been deliberate but slow.

Jackson was freed from his hesitation when someone knocked on his door. He hadn’t appreciated it before when his parents had decided that he deserved his own private entrance. It made his life a lot easier for various reasons. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, so he moved quickly towards the door, all thoughts of wanting to be alone tonight pushed to the side. 

“Who is it?” he asked, half hopeful and half irritated. 

“Scott.” 

Surprised, Jackson opened up the door and it was the alpha. His brow creased in surprised, and he craned his neck to look over Scott’s shoulder. Parked down on the street was Scott’s motorcycle. How had he not heard the dirt bike drive up? 

“May I come in?” Scott asked, politely. While Scott had picked up many of Derek’s better traits as an alpha, he still respected the sanctity of his pack member’s bedrooms. 

“Sure. What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Scott said, coming in and putting his helmet down on the table that Jackson kept near it for keys. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay, that’s ominous.” Jackson walked away, pretending he couldn’t feel the alpha’s eyes on his back. “Want something to drink?”

“Whatever you got.”

Digging into the mini-fridge, Jackson pulled out two beers and used a claw to pop off their claps. “Make yourself comfortable.” He handed a beer to Scott and flopped down on his bed. 

Scott glanced around him and chose one of the chairs. “How are you?”

“Fine!” Jackson said it with a little too much conviction to his own ears. 

“Okay. That’s good.”

Jackson frowned. “You came all the way over here to check on me? Have you never freaking heard of a phone, McCall?”

Scott took in a breath. “I didn’t call because I didn’t think you would tell me if something was actually wrong. Yet, when I come here, I see that Stiles isn’t here. Why isn’t Stiles here?”

“We’re not attached to the hip,” Jackson joked. “We can spend nights apart. You don’t think we were as bad as you and your girlfriends, do you?”

“I was never that bad, but I think …” Scott hesitated.

Jackson took a deep pull off the beer and then urged Scott to go on with his other hand.

“I thought that after what happened today, you wouldn’t want to be alone.”

“What happened today? Oh, that was nothing!”

Scott’s mouth drew into a straight line, yet his eyes filled with that ridiculous concern the alpha could generate on cue.

“What?” Jackson snapped.

“It was not nothing.” Scott sounded like he was trying to apologize. “You pushed yourself today, you got hurt, and I wanted to make sure that you were all right.”

“You came all this way for no reason, then, ‘cause I’m _fine._ ”

Scott studied him, that same concern shining in his eyes, but the alpha didn’t press it immediately. Jackson wasn’t fooled; he could tell that Scott was going to press it eventually. Scott was going to try to save him, and Jackson sneered at the thought.

Scott reacted to the expression. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jackson felt out of control. “You’ve checked on me; you can go if you want.”

“If you’re okay, then I want to go over a few things with you,” the alpha said, amiably. 

Jackson straightened up on the bed. He could do this.

“Doc and I got Tracy’s body to the clinic, where he started an investigation.” Scott began. “But we couldn’t get her to change back.”

“You couldn’t?” Dead werecreatures always took their human forms when the power that fueled their transformation vanished.

“We tried for an hour, and then I had leave to pick Kira up. I took her back to my house and then Doc came by and visited us.” Scott tried to make a joke. “If we keep getting interrupted like that, Kira and I are never going to get to kiss each other again.”

Jackson thought back to the scene in the interrogation room. He almost brought it up, but he knew that Kira was probably really unhappy since that had happened. 

“You left her to come to me?” 

“It’s important you know things,” Scott said, evasively. “Tracy wasn’t a kanima.”

“I beg to differ …”

“She wasn’t. She had claws like a werewolf—”

“So do I.” Jackson nearly bit his tongue off. He had decided he didn’t want to talk about that. He had decided wasn’t going to say anything, but here he was, saying things. He looked up, hoping that Scott hadn’t noticed.

The alpha obviously had, but he didn’t say anything. “She had venom and scales and a tale like a kanima, but her features weren’t morphologically consistent.”

“What does that mean?”

“She wasn’t shifting from werewolf to kanima or back, not like …” Scott hesitated. _Not like you can_ was left unspoken. “It was like parts of her were one thing and other parts were something else. It means she wasn’t a bitten werewolf; she was artificially created. Deaton thinks that Belasko was created as well.”

“That’s how she got though the mountain ash.” Jackson breathed out. “Oh, fuck.”

“Exactly.”

“So you’re thinking that the people I saw on the roof …”

“What they said to you about following protocol. It made me think that’s something scientists would say. I think they’re … they’re experiments.”

Jackson shook his head. “They’re more than that, Scott. They’re weapons. You don’t create an artificial kanima just to see if you can.”

Scott looked a little ill. “I just though you should know. I hoped it would make you feel better.”

“I told you—”

“You’re not fine. Even if I couldn’t smell you, even if I couldn’t hear your heart beat, you’re my friend now. I know when you’re upset.” 

Unexpected rage pushed Jackson’s jaw out. He still felt out of control. “I don’t need you to take care of me. If you want to take care of someone, go talk to your girlfriend. All she wants to do is be a normal girl, but she can’t, because you’re going to run off on another quest.”

Scott’s draw dropped.

“You made a joke about how many times you’ve been interrupted while trying to kiss her. You think that’s funny to someone like her? She wants a boyfriend, not a pack leader.” Jackson felt drunk, and he hadn’t even had half a beer. “Go see Kira.”

Scott reached over and put down the beer he hadn’t touched with an audible click. “She doesn’t need me tonight. You do.”

Jackson laughed bitterly and arrogantly. 

“You do.” Scott stood up. “You’re upset, yet you aren’t with your parents. They’re asleep. You aren’t with Stiles. I talked to him earlier. You haven’t spoken to him since you left the animal clinic earlier today. I know why.”

“You don’t know _shit._ ”

The alpha strode over to him until he was hovering over there. “You don’t want to be near them, because you turned into something dangerous today. Something that could hurt the people you love.” Scott’s voice held the conviction of experience. “Something you never wanted to be again.”

“Fuck. You.”

“And you did it because I asked you to.”

Jackson surged off the bed until he was face to face with Scott. “Why don’t you get over yourself! I did it because I wanted to do it.” 

“Lie.”

Jackson ground his teeth. He had to say something to deflect the conversation. “You don’t have a monopoly on selfless heroism, McCall.” He dragged the last syllable of the name out. “What you and Deaton said made sense, so I did it.”

“Okay.” Scott’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Let’s say that true. You didn’t do it because I begged you to do it, you did it because you wanted to call up the most horrifying experience of your life in order to save someone you barely knew. Tell me what it felt like when she died.”

Jackson’s jaw clenched so hard he thought he heard a tooth crack.

“You don’t really have to tell me, Jackson. I know what it feels like. It felt like someone had grabbed my nerves and tried to pull them out through my throat. As I watched her die, every tear smelt like gasoline waiting for a spark. I wanted to claw everything, even myself, to pieces. I wanted to howl until everyone in the world was afraid of me. What does it feel like for you?”

“Cold. Patient. Waiting for orders.” Jackson spat the words out that he could never say. He had made excuse to stay away from his parents, from Stiles, because he could feel the venom course through his veins. He tried to turn away but Scott taught him by the jaw with one hand.

Scott brought his hand up to the other side. “Alexandrina taught you how to deal with these feelings, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Alexandrina’s help had freed from the fear of regression. 

“And what do you need?”

Jackson sighed. “My alpha.”

“So we’re on the same page. Hate me all you want, but I know where I’m supposed to be. I know who I’m responsible for tonight. Though I’ll leave if you want me to. Do you want me to leave?”

The question hung in the air. “No.” It was almost as hard as dealing with the aftereffects of what he had done. Almost. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Okay.” Scott took a deep breath. “So let’s stop yelling at each other.” He took Jackson by the arm and guided down onto the bed, and then followed him. They lay next to each other, touching in the silence of the room. The stereo had fallen silent, the album finished.

“I’m sorry,” Scott breathed into his ear.

“Scott …” Jackson shifted slightly. “Why are you sorry about asking me to do the right thing?”

“Because no matter what I want, that’s all I ever seem to do.”

Jackson scoffed. “La Iglesia was six months ago. Six months of peace.”

“Was it? Or was it breathing between the storms?” Scott slide a hand over Jackson’s chest. “If it weren’t for me, you’d …”

The touch of someone who cared for him when he didn’t have to, who would protect him because chose to never, ever failed to make Jackson feel better, no matter that he would never admit it to anyone in the entire world. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be getting drunk at a frat house at some university in Southern California, with a new Porsche, a primary girlfriend, and a dozen screws on the side.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” Scott chuckled and then sobered up. “I poisoned your life.”

“That life wouldn’t have been bad at all, but you didn’t create the kanima, Scott. All you did was help save me from it. Just like you’re doing now.” Jackson pulled Scott’s shirt out of his pants. “When you do me wrong, trust me. I’ll let you know.”


	8. Conditional Terminal (Part 2: You're Should-ing All Over Yourself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress of the chimera invasion begins to take its toll on the pack. Jackson can't seem to find the right words.

Jackson pulled up a chair up to the library table where his boyfriend had set up shop for the evening. His arrival didn’t generate any immediately noticeable reaction from Stiles, who seemed completely focused on the book in front of him. Stiles must have already been researching for hours, as there was a pile of books arranged about him. Some were left open to and some had been closed, but all had slips of paper marking particular passages. Jackson reached out to take a random book in order to start pitching in.

Stiles caught his wrist. “Nope. No touchie.”

“What? I can help.”

“I have all of those set up in a particular order. If you disturb that order, you’ll disturb my research.” Stiles lectured without meeting Jackson’s eyes, glancing up from his own book for only a moment. 

“I swear I’ll put it back exactly where I found it.”

Stiles finally raised his eyes to meet Jackson’s gaze. His nostrils flared a bit, his eyebrows millimetered together, and his jaw jutted out slightly. 

Jackson couldn’t help but draw back from the intensity of the expression. “What?”

There was no response as Stiles’ attention returned to the book he was reading.

“Was that a slight against my intelligence?” Jackson asked. “Are you trying to put me in the Dumb Jock category?”

“I would never do that.” Stiles exaggeratedly turned the page of the book he was reading. “Where you could hear me.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Stiles didn’t respond with a further riposte, as would have been normal. He concentrated on his reading, leaving Jackson sitting in the wind without anything to do. Jackson shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the minutes passed, until he couldn’t help himself. He inhaled and detected both stress and anger. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you fucking smelling me again?” Stiles grumbled.

“You’re mad at me.”

“No shit.” Stiles reached for his phone in order to look something up on line. It was finally obvious, even to Jackson, that Stiles was pretending to pay no attention whatsoever as a form of punishment, but he was overdoing it. The amount of effort necessary not to pay attention.

Jackson crossed his arms and stood up. “Okay. I’m going to go get a coffee and give you time to calm down. Do you want a coffee?”

Stiles froze. There was a momentary spike in the human’s heart rate which smoothed out after the offer of buying him a coffee. As Jackson waited for an answer, the seconds hand on the library’s clock moved halfway around the dial. “Sure.” 

He wasn’t running away from his boyfriend. Not every disagreement between lovers had to be hammered out immediately. Jackson really wanted some coffee, and he was sure that Stiles, too, wanted something to drink. They could always deal with the things that were bothering Stiles later. 

The coffee shop wasn’t that far away, so he decided to walk instead of drive. While the high school was partly surrounded by the Preserve, this new shop had decided to set up just a few blocks away in the other direction. Tapping into the needs of both sleepy students just arriving at school and students studying late had made it a successful venture. It was a particular busy night at the coffee shop, so he had a significant wait in line. It gave him an opportunity to just let his mind wander.

It occurred to him that he should take Stiles somewhere -- anywhere — outside of Beacon Hills. He had taken Lydia to San Francisco twice, and they had had a lot of fun, even if they had done too much shopping for Jackson’s taste. He hadn’t minded spending money; he had minded the length of time Lydia spent making decisions. He could assume that taking Stiles to the big city would be different. They’d probably end up going somewhere unbearably nerdy, but that could be a nice change of pace. He’d suggest it once he’d figured out why Stiles was angry with him.

By the time he had returned to the library, Stiles had been joined by Malia, Scott, and Kira. 

“Well, what do you know? The gang’s almost all here!” Jackson announced. “Where’s Lydia and Liam?”

Instead of answering, Malia looked at the coffee enviously. “Where’s mine?”

Jackson took one cup, moved it around Malia’s head — completely unnecessarily — and set it down in front of Stiles. “At the coffee shop.” 

“Lydia’s with Parrish,” Kira was polite enough to actually answer Jackson’s question. “She wanted to start training right away.”

“Training …” Jackson snorted. “So that’s what they’re going to call it.”

“Jackson!” Scott’s jaw dropped in surprise. “He’s a deputy, and he’s like twenty-five!”

“And she’s on the other side of eighteen.” Jackson replied smugly.

Stiles added his two cents with an acidic tone. “You know it’s not about a number; it’s about the power differential.”

Jackson wasn’t a fool. He may not have caught the hidden meaning behind Stiles’ quite, but he knew it was there. In order to stall for time to figure it out, he decided to play the whole situation for humor. “Then Lydia better leave Jordan alone; he’s no match for her.”

Instead of laughter, an odd tenseness flooded through the pack. No one was looking at each other, and Jackson wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Finally, a flustered Kira mercifully switched topics. “Mason dragged Liam out to Sinema.” 

“You make going out to the club sound like such a burden,” Jackson groused. “How come they don’t get the singular pleasure of reading through dry-as-dust books like we do?” He took his chair, sliding it noisily across the floor. 

“Well, that’s my fault,” Scott offered. “I didn’t tell them about this.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow but declined to say anything more. Limiting Liam’s level of participation seemed a little condescending of the alpha. He kept meaning to have a talk with Scott about how his efforts not to boss Liam around seemed to be leaving the kid at the outskirts of the pack as a sort of unintended consequence. 

They settled down and scoured their sources for any description which matched the people who had killed Tracy or tales of someone creating a werewolf-kanima hybrid.

“Chimera.” Scott announced after the third time Kira had used the term hybrid. 

“What?” Stiles’ head shot up from his study.

“Chimera. A beast made up of incongruous parts.” 

“Fantastic.” Malia slapped her book down harder on the table than was absolutely necessary, very obviously not into the whole researching thing. 

“Hey.” Jackson caught her attention with a raised eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her shrug was completely unconvincing. “I just like having a name to put on her.”

No further progress was made, even with all five of them there. The weird tension seemed to sap their energy even as it made simple conversation awkward. Eventually, Scott received a text from his mother about something happening at the hospital. From her brief description, it sounded weird enough it could be related to these other events. 

“You guys want to come?” Scott asked.

Stiles, who was looking a little tired, shook his head. “We need to make sure there’s nothing here.” 

Malia shook her head without explanation, playing with an empty coffee cup. 

Jackson stared at her until he realized that Scott was waiting for his answer. “No. I think I’m gonna stick here. Text me if you need me.” He watched the couple head out of the library. He wasn’t reading any of the resources. He had remained because he wanted to talk both his sister and his boyfriend.

The library was nearly empty, and Stiles, though periodically yawning, was still working his way through the books. Jackson had long since put his own book down, as had Malia. 

“Did you go back and sign your statement, Malia?” 

“No.” She grimaced and crumpled up the coffee cup. 

“You should.”

“It’s a lie.” 

Stiles made an interested noise, thought it didn’t pull his attention from his book. 

“We’ve gone over this before. Sometimes, living among normal people takes lies.”

Malia opened her mouth to speak, but Jackson cut her off before she got a chance to do so. 

“Yes, yes, I know. You can go live a life of high adventure with Braeden as a supernatural mercenary. Hey, did you notice the scar pattern on her throat?”

“Yes.” Malia rolled her eyes.

“You know who put it there?”

“Deucalion. I heard the story from Derek.”

Jackson nodded and thought seriously about letting it drop right there. She had been moody ever since she had learned she had made it into senior year. The victory hadn’t made her happy, and he knew how that felt.

“And you know who hired her to rescue Peter and Derek from the Calaveras?”

“Yeah.” She answered, but that had gotten Stiles’ attention. He must not have heard that story. 

“Also Deucalion.”

“Whoa,” Stiles muttered. 

“What are you trying to say?” Malia challenged him.

“Braeden is the mercenary you are most familiar with. She’s probably the only mercenary you are familiar with. You like her? You trust her?”

Malia nodded.

“One day, she might be offered a lot of money to kill you, and while she could turn them down, there’s a chance she might not be able to. You might think it’s better than normal life, but she has a reputation to maintain. That life is not for everyone.”

The werecoyote dropped her shoulders. “Is this where you are going to lecture me on what I _should_ want?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m still going.” 

Before he could say anymore, she got up and walked away. He didn’t say anything to stop her, because he shouldn’t have said anything. Part of him had been aching to fix _something_ after Tracy had been killed right in front of him. Once she was out of earshot, he sighed. 

“What was that about?” Stiles asked from his books. 

“I think you guys think she’s moved past what you did, but she’s not.”

“Huh?”

“You bringing her back? Turning her human?”

“Yeah.” Stiles replied. “One of the few times we had a clear win. Even though she punched me for it.”

“She punched you?”

Stiles waves his hands to indicate water under the bridge. “She was upset, but now she has family and she has friends. It’s got to be better than living in the woods.”

“When she has to lie all the time? When she’s been … handicapped by her time away?”

“What do you mean?”

Jackson hesitated. He didn’t want to sound like he was attacking Stiles, especially when he was pretty sure Stiles was already mad at him.

“Don’t be like that.” Stiles’ voice took on an edge. “Yeah, you’re her brother, but you don’t know her better than I do.”

“It’s different for me.”

“Different, yes. Superior, _no_.”

With a start, Jackson drew back. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” Stiles snapped, without looking up. “I understand that she took an eight-year break from socialization, so she hasn’t figured out that the expectations put on other people don’t match the expectations they put on themselves. I understand that she has yet to come to grips that the opinions of people she doesn’t know or care about can affect her life. I understand that from her point of view, living a life while going through the meaningless social indignities foisted on us by adolescence and high school, seems frivolous if not pointless. You may have had therapy, but so have I.”

“Stiles.” Jackson said soothingly. “I wasn’t trying to imply that I could handle Malia better than you.”

“Implying things requires a degree of subtlety which you completely lacked.” Stiles muttered. “I’ve known her for longer than you.”

Jackson felt the situation shift to outright hostility. He couldn’t help but take the bait. “Twenty-four hours in a mental institution and two weeks of training her to shift doesn’t count. Not that it’s a competition.”

“Oh.” Sties pursed his lips. “Jackson Whittemore recognizes something’s not a competition. I must have fallen asleep already.”

“What’s the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You know what’s the matter with me!” Stiles retorted. 

Jackson hesitated and then shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I don’t have a clue. I’ve been trying to figure it out all night.”

“I thought I was done being your charity case.”

“You’re not my … What brought this one.”

“What brought this on is that I thought we were equals in this relationship.”

Jackson nodded vigorously. “We are.” 

“Bullshit.”

He opened his mouth to answer Stiles’ vulgarity when his phone dinged. It was a text from Scott: _Come to Sinema._

“Not bullshit.”

“You herd me like a collie with sheep, making sure my anxiety and my trauma don’t paralyze me. You help me when the memories get too much; you push me to do the right thing.” Stiles slammed the book shut. “But you won’t let me do the same for you.”

“I would if I needed you to!”

“Then what happened last night?” Stiles demanded. “You were home, barricaded in your room, and Scott had to virtually kick down the door.”

“You’re mad because Scott came to see if I was okay?” Jackson shouted.

The phone dinged again: _Emergency. Chimera._

“No. I’m mad because you didn’t call me. You didn’t want me to help you, the way you help me.” Stiles rubbed the tears that had formed in his eyes. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’m tired and I want to get this done, and you have to go help Scott.”

“But—”

“Go help Scott. We’ll talk later … when _I_ feel like it.”

Jackson stood up. The realization that he had fucked up was uncomfortable. “Okay. Just don’t fall asleep.” 

“Whatever.”

Jackson left the library.

**~*~**

Sinema actually had a line out in front.

“Ye gods,” Jackson exclaimed to no one in particular. “This is pretty sad.”

Some of the people in line turned to look at him. 

He flung out a disparaging hand at the outside of the building. “It’s not exactly Studio 54. Can we hurry this up a little?”

Jackson’s attitude didn’t the line move faster. Scott must have found another way into the club; Jackson could have found one as well, but he really hadn’t been focused on getting into Sinema. He had been dwelling instead on what Stiles had said to him. 

He completely got where Stiles was coming from, and he didn’t have a defense for it. But he still didn’t regret doing what he had last night and the frustration ate at him. Why couldn’t Stiles just understand without making it about himself?

He finally got in the front door. The club was packed, seriously packed, even for a Friday night. He worked his way deeper into the club, snagging a drink from a good-looking waitress who was far too young to be working in a place like this. On the other hand, it was an unlicensed, underground club — who exactly was going to report them? None of the men and women dancing up a storm inside, that was for sure.

Jackson stood at the edge of the dance floor, trying to locate the others. Liam and Mason were supposed to be there, and he smelled them, but he couldn’t find them in the main room. Sinema had several side chambers, but they weren’t being used. In fact, when he studied the crowd, they were subconsciously moving away from one in particular, crowding the dance floor unnecessarily. 

He immediately headed that way, pushing through the crowd. No one resisted. This was definitely odd.

Liam had picked up a guy with scorpion stingers growing out of his arms and was slamming him into the ground when Jackson entered the room. Even with the music, even with the dancing, someone other than the supernatural people would eventually notice something. Brett — that snotty lacrosse player from Devenford — was leaning up against the wall with a savage tear across his midsection, being cared for by Mason. Scott was picking himself up off the floor, and Kira was across the room, sword drawn.

“What the hell is that?”

“Girtablilu.” Scott answered. 

“Gesundheit.” Jackson winced. 

“It’s Sumerian …” Before Scott could continue with his explanation, warm golden light flooded the room. Everyone turned to see Kira’s fox manifest. With some sort of battle cry shouted in Japanese, she charged across the room. Her sword flashed up and then she brought down, and it looked like she was about to behead the defeated chimera. Scott reacted faster than anyone, catching her arms before she could execute the man. 

The fox aura turned to Scott, its scowl matching Kira’s, before the glow faded, leaving a very confused Kira in its wake. Everyone stood stunned at the sight before Jackson stepped forward and drew Kira away. Scott nodded and turned to Liam. “Help me carry him out.”

“What happened?” Jackson whispered to Kira. 

“I … don’t know.” Kira was confused and more than a little frightened. 

Jackson was going to talk to her about it more, but there was a metallic twang and a crossbow bolt buried itself in the chimera’s chest with a sickening squelch. On the catwalk above the pack, three masked individuals stood. Jackson couldn’t understand how they had got that close without anyone noticing them. Scott confronted them about what they had done, and, just like on the roof, the leader spoke about the now-dead chimera as a failure. Then they tried to retreat into the darkness.

“Come on.” Scott snarled. “Kira, watch Mason and Brett. Liam and Jackson, with me.”

The three of them, using their speed, strength and agility, scrambled up the scaffolding. Scott led the way, following the path that the masked ones had had to take. Yet, it wasn’t fifty feet before they lost the trail.

“Where did they go?” Liam demanded. “We were right on their tail!”

Jackson literally crouched down to try to detect a scent. “Nothing.”

Scott managed to keep his equanimity. “I don’t know, but without a lead, we’re wasting time. Liam, will you and Mason take Brett home? Jackson, would you mind taking Kira home?”

“Me?” 

“I need to call the sheriff. I don’t think we’ll be able to sneak Lucas out of here.” Scott cocked his head. “I can already hear the police coming.”

Jackson could as well. “All right. You sure you don’t want us to stick around?”

“I got this.” Scott bit his lip. “None of you need to sit around in a police station for two nights in a row.”

When they came back to the club room and explained the plan, Kira glanced at Scott, almost as if she was going to offer to stay with him but then she turned and walked out. Jackson followed her as she went into a side store room and out the back door Scott and her had opened. She stopped and picked up her belt buckle, which apparently she could use as a throwing star.

Jackson took the lead, heading towards where he had parked his car. Kira was quiet. Too quiet. He decided to break the ice with a little humor. 

“Where does your mother shop?”

As he had desired, the non sequitur brought Kira to a stop. “Shop?”

“You have a magic belt-sword with a detachable shuriken. You can’t find that type of accessory at Baby Gap.”

“I didn’t actually get it from my mom.” She laughed. “I got it from my dad. After he found out I was a kitsune, he wanted to get me a gift as way of apology for not sharing the truth about Mom.”

“Well, I think that’d be more …"

“My mother’s apology?” Kira sighed in frustration. “My mother doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong. As much as that’s hard to deal with sometimes, I understand.”

Jackson opened up the passenger side door for her. “You do?”

“My mother is kitsune. Unlike me, she’s never been human. To her mind, tricking me about her nature, about what she suspected my nature could be, is as common as your mother going to her Bridge Club.”

He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat. “Hey, those clubs can get pretty cutthroat.”

Both of them laughed.

“Mom’s very practical, and while she’s honorable, right and wrong really don’t matter to her the way it does to humans. She told me that if it had turned out I wasn’t kitsune, she had never let me know anything about it so I could have lived a perfectly normal life.” Kira looked out the window. “I wish …”

Jackson pulled the car out. “You wish you had been human.”

Kira nodded. 

“Am I taking you home?”

“Yes. Scott’s not going to be free for hours.” She sighed once more, but then suddenly looked at him in alarm. “Did I offend you?”

“Me?” Jackson smirked. “No. I just don’t think I have the right to wish to be human, after I did such a crack-up job of being a werewolf … but there’s part of me that still does. You’re like Scott, you know.”

Kira blinked twice. 

“Neither of you chose this, but you still come running out into the middle of the night to stop a scorpion-werewolf.”

“I guess.”

Jackson drove down the streets. “So, want to talk about what happened back there?”

Kira nodded. “You won’t tell Scott if I tell you something?”

“Uhm.”

“Things got really complicated tonight, and I don’t want to … I don’t want to pressure him until I understand that he meant …” She shook her head in confusion. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“I won’t tell him, if you’re going to tell him eventually.”

“I will.” Kira promised earnestly. 

“Okay.”

“I think … I didn’t decide to kill the guy, and I think my fox spirit acted on its own.” She seemed frightened by the idea. “But I think it was acting on what I wanted.”

Jackson waited as the landscape flowed past in the night sky. 

“We had won, but I hated everything. I hated that instead of going to the movies or studying at his house or doing anything that kids our age were doing, we had spent the first part of our night reading through bestiaries, the second part of our night helping a screaming kid at the hospital, and the third part of our night fighting a predatory chimera.” The words flowed out of her in a torrent. 

“You and Scott had six months of peace, Kira. We all did.”

“Scott always knew something like this would happen, eventually. He never forgets it, not even when he’s with me. And when I saw Lucas lying on the floor, I wanted this problem to go away.” Kira took a deep breath. “I think my fox spirit decided that she was going to make it happen.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

This might be a significant problem. From what he had learned, kitsune were partnerships. The spirit and their human host worked together in intimate ways. If Kira’s fox was picking up on Kira’s unexpressed cues but not understanding that she didn’t really want Lucas to die, this could be the start of something very bad.

“I’m going to hate myself for asking this, but are you sure you didn’t want Lucas dead?”

“No! I mean, I’m sure I didn’t.” 

They pulled up in front of the Yukimura residence. 

“I didn’t, Jackson. I really didn’t. I wanted the whole situation to go away.” She wiped at her eyes again. “Do you know what it’s like that the first time someone tells you they love you, it’s in the middle of a fight?”

“Uhhhh.” Jackson shrugged. “Yes?”

“Really?”

“It was very dramatic. Lydia showed me she loved me by transforming me back into a human, then I died and came back to life.” 

Kira stared at him. “I thought Scott was joking.” 

“Nah. But, I didn’t mean to make this about ne. Scott told you he loved you?”

Kira, sitting in the car with him outside her house, told Jackson about Scott’s reaction to her resourcefulness. 

“And he didn’t even realize he did it. I always imagined the first time happening much differently.”

“That sounds like our alpha,” Jackson tucked his chin slightly. “Clueless dumbass.”

Kira looked offended on Scott’s behalf.

“I say it with all love but a healthy respect for history.”

“He’s smart.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t. I said he was clueless. It’s certainly not the same thing. If it makes you feel better, he meant every word. If you don’t believe me, ask him.” 

“I will.” Kira leant over and kissed Jackson on the cheek. “Thanks for listening to me dump on you.”

Jackson rolled his eyes in mock dismissal. “Don’t make a habit of it.”


	9. A Novel Approach (Part 1: Pain Radiates)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension mounts as Jackson spends a difficult night before the trip to Eichen House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses some dialogue from the episode _A Novel Approach_.

Jackson stared at the ceiling in his room. 

He could not sleep. His covers were angrily bunched at the edge of the bed, kicked there in frustration, but now he was cold again. If he pulled them up, however, he was sure he would eventually feel too warm again.

He was uncomfortable even with how he was lying down. It seemed that he kept shifting positions every five minutes or so: first on his back, then on his side, then on his belly. The problem wasn’t his body and he knew it; it was his mind.

He turned over onto one elbow so he could see the clock on the side of the bed. The neon numbers spelled out that it was a quarter after four, and he hadn’t slept a wink all night. He laid back down, tried to calm himself, tried to let his buzzing thoughts subside, but he couldn’t. 

Piled neatly next to the alarm clock were college brochures. He hadn’t put them there. His parents had left them where he would see them while he had been out. It was supposed to be low-pressure encouragement, a wordless way to suggest that he start considering the future without nagging him in person. There was a small part of his rational brain that appreciated how they had chosen this particular subtle way of continuing that uncomfortable conversation. A small part.

To his treacherous emotional brain, it was an accusation of inadequacy.

Jackson took a little comfort that he was handling the appearance brochures with only a bout of sleeplessness. A year ago, he would have suffered a complete angry meltdown. He might have driven all night, got stupidly drunk, or engaged in any number of immature tantrums. 

All he did tonight was obsess, and it wasn’t just about the brochures. He could admit that to himself.

It was his failure at the police station. It was his failure at Sinema. He and the pack had failed to save Tracy Stewart; he and the pack had failed even to figure out what was wrong with the guy at the club. People were _dead_ because they had failed. Kids were dead because _he_ had failed. 

No one was blaming him. He could name a person for each of the fingers of his right hand that would be irritated beyond measure that he was thinking like this, but in the end it didn’t matter. A person set a goal and that goal was either met or it wasn’t met. And these goals hadn’t been met; there were two corpses — three if you counted Belasko, which Jackson didn’t.

The enemies in the masks were ridiculous and not just in terms of fashion sense. They were strong, as strong as werewolves, and they seemed to have the ability to avoid being tracked. The masks they wore were the worst part. It robbed them of their humanity while still reminding those who looked upon that that they might have once been human. Their cold, callous voices and their reduction to the death of a living being as a necessary component of scientific method reminded Jackson of nothing more than the touch of Gerard Argent’s mind. 

He certainly didn’t need to be reminded of that.

But it wasn’t just the supernatural problem _du jour._ Whenever he managed to put Tracy, Lucas, and the trio of masked men to the side, Stiles’ accusation at the library quickly replaced them. Jackson should be used to Stiles lashing out like that, but this one hit a sore spot.

_You didn’t want me to help you the way you help me._

At first, Jackson wanted to reject that sentence as just mere words from a stressed-out boyfriend, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were true. Jackson didn’t desire the helpful observations and soothing assistance — and he could admit it in the small hours of the morning — he enjoyed giving others. 

The brochures, their new enemies, Stiles’ complaint — they were all parts of a calculus problem that Jackson couldn’t solve. In the end, it came down to what did he want?

Did he want to go to college? He didn’t honestly know. He would go to college in order to make his parents happy. He would go to college in order to be near Stiles when he went to college. He knew he had the talent and the grades to go to college.

But did he want to go? He wasn’t sure.

And that brought up a darker question, one that would never see the light of day if Jackson could help it. He had used the word love with Stiles, but was it real? Or was it simply _easy?_

They were both damaged in similar ways. Not identical, as the details were different and their responses to it had been vastly different. Yet, that shared experience brought them closer together. Or, as Jackson’s treacherous brain supplied, it made it easier for them to be together.

Could he have a relationship with a normal person — by normal he meant someone who hadn’t been the victim of obscene possession and unwilling murder? Was he too afraid to find out if that was possible? Or was even thinking this cheapening what he felt for Stiles?

These new villains, these chimeras, would have been a distraction that would have helped him sleep, if it hadn’t been for his reaction to Tracy’s presence. The call of like to like. Stiles had told him everything he had researched about Tracy Stewart, how her night terrors caused her to doubt her own identity.

Morrell’s deceptive translation haunted him: _A kanima seeks a friend._

Jackson had sought out a whole new set of friends, hadn’t he?

Malia and he had moved quickly and without hesitation into a sibling relationship. They had gone in a little under eight months from absolute strangers — one who had been a coyote for the previous eight years and one who had been living on another continent for the previous eight months — to brother and sister.

Again, Jackson had quickly forgotten any and all animus he might have had for Derek under accepting him as a friend and cousin. This seemed to be a good thing, but was it actually a good thing, or was it a way of burying the past instead of dealing with it? 

He was treating that little shrimp Liam and his tag-along Mason like team mates. He would never have done that before, not only because he was an ass back then (and he had been as ass) but because he believed that people should earn their place in the world, and he still believed it. Had they earned their spot?

He was calling McCall “Alpha.” When did he decide to do that? Did he really think that Scott was his equal? His superior? And he acted so desperate to help him. To please him. To serve him. 

And finally, there was Stiles. 

Jackson sat up in the bed. He was sweating, but he wasn’t cold.

Did he really love Stiles? Or was he using him like he used Lydia? Was he capable of a relationship at all, or was he just filling in the cracks? 

Were these people really his friends? He could be using them, like he could be using therapy and his time in London, to conceal the enormous hole in his psyche, a stop gap that will fail when he most needed it. All these friends who needed him to do things, tasks that only he could accomplish. 

Friends or _masters?_

He leapt onto his feet and began to pace. His heart strained against his ribcage. It was like he was having a waking nightmare. He didn’t want to wake his parents up. They would think that their gift of the brochures was putting pressure on him, and that was the last thing he could do. He couldn’t call the pack. 

Jackson snatched up his phone. He didn’t need to call them.

“Jackson? It’s 3:30 in the morning.” Danny’s voice sounded groggy over the phone. 

“Hi. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Why did you wake me up?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.” Danny must have woken up fully. “Jackson, what’s wrong?”

Jackson found suddenly he couldn’t put into words what he had just been thinking about. They sounded stupid. They sounded juvenile. Yet, he felt them so very strongly, even as the sound of Danny’s voice started to soothe his racing pulse. 

“Uhm. I needed to talk.”

“About what?”

Jackson took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Just … just talk.”

Danny started talking about lacrosse practice at Devenford Prep. It was comforting, soothing, to go over things like drills and the coach, who was a lot less crazy than Bobby Finstock, yet somehow that made it worse. 

“Mind if I ask you a serious question?” Danny’s request made Jackson aware that he had sat back down on his bed. He had become comfortable and even started to doze a little.

“Sure.” Jackson tensed immediately. 

“Is Brett Talbot a werewolf?”

Jackson burst out laughing. “I didn’t tell you? Sure is!”

“I started to notice certain similarities between how he played and how you and McCall and Dunbar play. Did Scott bite him to?”

“No.” Jackson laughed. “He’s a born werewolf, like Derek.”

“Remind me?” 

“Miguel.” 

“Oh. So are all born werewolves incredibly attractive douche nozzles?” 

“Yes.” Jackson couldn’t stop giggling and he felt so much better. “Yes, they are.”

“So he’s in your pack?”

“No. He’s in another local pack. Woman named Satomi Ito.”

“It must be hard.” A tired Danny sometimes waxed philosophical.

“Hmmm?”

“To live out in the open like that, but to always be hiding who you really are. No wonder you form packs.”

Jackson’s jaw dropped, even though Danny couldn’t possibly see it. Leave it to his oldest friend to say exactly the right thing. He decided that he could probably go to sleep now, and he was about to tell Danny thanks when his phone beeped with another incoming call.

“Who could be calling you now?”

“Looks like Scott.”

“I’ll let you go. If he’s calling this late, it’s gotta be something important, which means that’s my cue to butt out. Good night, Jackson.”

“Good night.”

He ended the call and then immediately picked up Scott’s call. 

“Hello?”

“Someone’s taking the bodies.”

**~*~**

Lydia turned the book over and over in her hand. It looked like a hundred other low-budget horror paperbacks. “ _The Dread Doctors,_ by T. R. McCammon.”

“What’s that?” Jackson walked up behind her and Malia, thankful for supernatural resiliency that allowed him to shake off a sleepless night with one cup of espresso. He craned his neck to look over her shoulder at the cover of the book. “What the fuck?”

“I found it in Tracy’s room.” Malia grimaced at his reaction. “I think it might be important.”

Lydia held it up higher so Jackson could get a better look at it. “Are those who you saw?”

“This is wild. Someone wrote a book about these jerks?”

Lydia read the blurb aloud. “In a small New England town, teenagers are taken in the night and buried alive.” Her voice stumbled for a second as the similarities sunk in. “Days later they emerge transformed, wreaking havoc and spreading terror, commanded by an ancient order of parascientists known only as the Dread Doctors.”

“What’s a parascientist?” Malia frowned. 

“Parasciences are forms of science that exist outside the normally accepted fields of the natural and social science.”

“So, like magic?”

Lydia shook her head slightly. “Not exactly. While occultism has its own practices and principles, parascience applies the scientific method to the supernatural.”

Jackson crossed his arms. “What would that mean, practically?”

“Well, unlike Dr. Deaton, they probably don’t have a code of ethics.”

Malia snorted. “Wonderful.”

Jackson wasn’t in the least bit surprised. “So what happens in the novel?”

“Particularly what happens in the end?” Lydia added.

“There is no end,” Malia complained. “This is volume one.”

“Let me guess, there is no volume two.”

“I think we’re living in it.” 

Jackson took the book from Lydia’s hands. To him, it seemed harmless enough. “What do you think it might mean?”

“Well, we better figure that out really quickly,” Malia began. “Because what happened to the kids in the book is not something any of us want to see. I don’t want to be dismembered.”

Lydia reclaimed the book from him with her head tilted to the side. “It could be a prediction.”

“I don’t think it could be only that,” Jackson muttered.

A raised eyebrow from Lydia intimidated him into going on.

“I get where you were coming from — you were thinking about your periods of automatic writing. I think that might have been a possible explanation if it were just a manuscript, but this was written, edited, typeset, designed, and marketed. Even if, at its base, it is a prediction, it’s also a warning.”

Malia frowned. “Aren’t all predictions warnings?” 

“No, he has a point. I keep my predictions to myself and my pack.” Lydia wondered aloud. “The idea of sending it out to the general public is more than what I’ve do. Whoever had this published was trying to warn others. Or they were trying to threaten others.” 

“A book as a threat?” Malia looked confused. 

Lydia starts walking toward home room, Jackson and Malia trailing behind her. “These are secrets revealed, secrets disguised as fiction. A victim …” Lydia’s voice quavered. “Tracy Stewart just happens to have a book in the bedroom that describes the people who twisted her and how they did it?”

“Oh,” Malia said. “There was a note with the book. Tracy asked for it, probably from her dad.”

“Doesn’t disprove Lydia’s idea,” Jackson pointed out which earned him a grateful grin from Lydia. “She had to hear about it somehow. She hears something while they’re experimenting on her, thinks it’s part of a nightmare, but she doesn’t let it go. She keeps digging.”

“That means, we have to keep digging.”

Lydia pats Malia’s arm. “Yes. Threat or warning, it’s the only clue we have right now. Here’s your room, Malia. See you at lunch.”

Jackson frowned as he walked Lydia to her class. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Lydia spoke brightly. “Missing school already?”

“No. I’m actually here to talk to your mother.”

“My … mother.” 

“She could give me access to Tracy Stewart’s files. Especially now that we know about this book, I want to look into how maybe these … Dread Doctors …” Jackson’s face scrunched up. “Are we really going to call them that?” 

Lydia burst out laughing. “Jackson Whittemore, you may have done a lot of things in your life but one thing you will never do is get my mother to give you a student’s private records.” 

“You don’t know how persuasive I can be.”

“I do know, and I also know how stubborn my mother can be. She’s no fool. She has to have figured out that something odd is going on in Beacon Hills, but she plays dumb.”

Jackson pouted. “Your mother likes me.”

Lydia kept chuckling as she disappeared into her home room. 

The door to the counselor’s office was shut, but Jackson had advantages that most students didn’t. He listened through the door, standing across the hall. All he had to do was focus his hearing inside.

“If another killing spree starts, we need to be prepared.” Principal Thomas was saying. “We have two students dead already.”

Natalie definitely made an attempt to sound reasonable, but there was a tenor note. “How do you expect us to prepare for that?”

“We can make sure the students know they can come to talk to us about feelings of fear due to …”

Natalie’s voice cut them off. “Sure, Eric. That’s going to work. Yes, students, we expect a handful of you to die in the next few weeks, and if you want to start a support group for the survivors we’ll facilitate it.” The sarcasm was withering.

“We have to do something.”

“What we have to do is give them something normal and safe. We help them believe that they come to school, go to class, do their work, and then go home at the end of the day. Warning them that they might be dead tomorrow doesn’t help them be safe; it ruins their lives.” Natalie’s voice took on an insistent tone. 

“I don’t feel right about this.”

“You haven’t felt right since Victoria Argent tortured you.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I heard it from my daughter.” Natalie sounded haughty. “Let them be kids, for God’s sake. They’ll understand how terrible the world is soon enough.”

Principal Thomas stormed out of the counseling office and back toward his own. Jackson took this as his chance. 

“Miss Martin?”

“Oh.” She had been arranging her hair in a compact. “Come in. What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask for a favor.” Jackson closed the door behind him.

Natalie had never been slow. She put things together quickly, and Jackson watched the wheels turning in her head. “I’d be glad to help you apply for whatever college you were thinking about doing.”

“You know that’s not why I’m here.”

Her lips pursed in annoyance. “Then I’m not sure why you would come to me.”

“I’d like to look at your notes on Tracy Stewart, including her school records.”

Natalie’s face expanded in confusion and then scrunched up in shocked anger. “No. I can’t give those records out.”

“She and her entire family are dead.”

“That doesn’t change anything. Even if you were the police, which you aren’t, I’d need a court order.”

“Ms. Martin.” Jackson sighed. “You know why I need this.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Jackson. Why don’t we let the police handle this rather than a high-school graduate playing detective?”

Jackson smoothed his temper down. Scott would try to reason with her with his big sad eyes; Stiles would shout and stomp his feet. He was neither of them. “I’m sure you realize that this concerns your daughter.”

“Lydia?”

“It wasn’t just Tracy and her father who died. Her psychiatrist died as well. Anyone who tried to help Tracy was targeted. Do you know anyone else who might have helped Tracy aside from Lydia?”

The counselor glared at him and Jackson shrugged and offered a helpless smile. “Just sayin’.”

**~*~**

Jackson stomped up the stairs and to the door of Stile’s room. He thought about knocking, but instead he simply opened it up. “What’s taking so long?”

He had been pulling a shirt over his head, so Stiles jumped at the intrusion. “Hold your horses.”

“Lydia is waiting in the car. Scott and Kira are going to beat us to Eichen House if we don’t leave …” Jackson made an elaborate show of looking at his watch, knowing that Stiles could see it. “Five minutes ago. I know I drive fast, but seriously, I can’t drive that fast.”

“Hold your horses!” Stiles shouted and then looked away. This was unusual. Stiles never got truly angry when they traded barbs. 

In the silence that reigned over the room after the shout, Jackson closed the door behind him. “What’s the matter?”

Stiles wouldn’t turn to look at him, but he tried to sound nonchalant. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, I one-hundred-per-cent believe that. Are you worried about going back to Eichen House?”

Stiles picked up one of his ubiquitous flannel shirts and fidgeted with it. He had stopped wearing the sexist print shirts he so favored his sophomore year. His clothing was far more adult. 

“You won’t be going there alone — you’ll have me, Scott, Kira, and Lydia. You’re not going to be admitted as a patient.”

“Is that what you told Malia?”

“Actually, yes, that’s exactly what I told Malia,” Jackson crossed his arms. 

“And still, she didn’t want to go. You know why, because she remembers that place as I remember it. And I’ve already been foolish enough to go there twice. The last time I went, the head orderly tried to make it look like Lydia and I were drug users and overdosed, until he was shot by Parrish! None of us should be going.”

“I heard all about it.” Jackson took a step toward Stiles and, surprisingly, Stiles shifted away from him. He was really freaked out by something. He softened. “You don’t have to go. Me and the others will be fine.”

“Of course, I have to go. I just don’t want to!”

“You don’t have to. No one thinks badly of Malia for not going. No one would think badly of you not going.” 

“ _I_ would think badly of me not going. I need to go. I need to go back to Torture Hospital.”

Jackson went over and sat on the bed. He patted next to him, coaxing Stiles to sit by him.

Stiles sneered, but only slightly. “I thought you were all crabby because Lydia is in the car.”

“Sit down. She can wait.”

Stiles sat down. As he did so, they jostled shoulders. Jackson caught the very noticeable wince. 

“What happened? And why do I smell blood?”

“Oh,” Stiles waved his concern away. “Let’s not talk about that now.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes and his jaw clenched. 

“Stop it, Jacks. I got hurt, but that’s not why I have to go to Eichen. This is how I contribute.”

“We have talked about this before. Not every member of a team has to be in every play.” Jackson held up a hand. “And before you get angry and call me a hypocrite, I know I’ve done my fair share of angsting over not being able to help all the time.”

“I wasn’t going to call you a hypocrite, because this not what I’m talking about here. I’m not being insecure, I’m being aware. The pack has entered my phase.” 

“Your … phase?”

“When you’ve been involved in supernatural events as long as I have—”

“Stiles, I’ve _been_ involved in the supernatural as long as you have.”

“One, I was involved like twelve hours before you were. Two, irrelevant. When you’ve been involved in supernatural events as long as I have, there’s a pattern to these things.”

To Jackson’s ears, Stiles sounded loud and desperate to distract both of them from something.

“Phase one is Something Happens. Phase two is What the Fuck is Happening. Phase three is Whatever is Happening is Trying to Kill Us. Phase four is Now that We Know What is Happening and It Knows We Know, How Do We Stop it? Phase five is Stopping Whatever is Happening.”

“Which phase is yours?”

“Two and four, of course.” Stiles laughed with a little hysterical edge. “I figure out what’s going on, Lydia and now it seems Mason work out the details that will help, I develop a plan, and you and the rest of the muscle brigade beat the bad guy. It’s my phase.”

Jackson hooded his eyes. 

“Jackson, I’m kidding. You do more than that. But we all have our strengths, as you’ve told me many times, and my strength is putting different things together. That’s why I need to go.” He stood up. “So let’s go.”

Jackson followed him. 

“Hey, when we get a break—”

Stiles laughed long and hard and bitterly. “Yeah. I’ll be in grad school by then.”

“When we get a break, we need to sit down and talk.” Jackson walked down the stairs.

“Talk about what?”

“You. And me. And why I sometimes don’t … share that well.” 

Stiles sighed. “For a moment there I thought you were going to break up with me. Which was the last thing I needed.”

“Oh, no.” Jackson shook his head. “It would take something a lot worse than you pointing out a flaw in our relationship to make me dump you. You’d have to kill someone at the very least.”

Stiles tripped on the stairs and might have broken his neck, but Jackson lunged and caught him. “Jesus, Stiles. Be careful.”

Shaken, Stiles pasted on a sickly smile. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”


	10. A Novel Approach (Part 2: We All Want Something, Don't We?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson and the pack clash with the Dread Doctors at Eichen House. Stiles comes to a conclusion that Jackson might not be able to live with.

They took two cars to Eichen House — Jackson’s Porsche and Lydia’s Toyota. The Jeep was sitting at home, waiting for maintenance, and Scott had decided, for some reason, not to take his motorcycle. Instead of the street, they parked in the pay lot a block down from the facility. They didn’t know how long it would take them to even get in to talk to Dr. Valack, so they weren’t going to risk a ticket.

Stiles walked by Jackson’s side, uncharacteristically quiet. Stiles had been as quiet on the drive over, but he hadn’t seemed to be upset with Jackson. Instead, Stiles had turned completely inward, his eyes unreadable, his expression blank. 

It had to be his return to Eichen House, Jackson reasoned. Stiles had never had a good experience in this place, either as a patient or a visitor. He resolved not to get out of Stiles’ line of sight all night unless he couldn’t help it. Jackson wanted Stiles to feel safe here.

Lydia, Kira, and Scott were waiting for them on the sidewalk. Strangely enough, Lydia and Kira were standing together, with Scott loitering up the street a good five paces. Scott had never been joined at the hip with his girlfriends, but given where they were going, it seemed odd. 

The girls crossed the street and went directly to the intercom to get someone to buzz them in, while Scott peeled away to join Jackson and Stiles at a location slightly out of earshot.

Jackson pursed his lips, staring exaggeratedly at Scott, then staring at Kira and Lydia, and then staring at Scott again. Scott picked up on his unspoken question.

“Things are weird.”

“What do you mean, weird?” Stiles asked. He kept his voice down because Scott had done the same.

“I don’t know, man,” Scott seemed as uncomfortable as Stiles was. “It’s been a rough few days, and now we have to meet a creepy doctor with a third eye.”

“Okay, I’m going to come out and ask it — are you two up for this?” Jackson pointed at both of them. “Because if you aren’t, I can take Kira and Lydia by myself.”

Stiles jumped. “No. I’m fine, why do you say that?”

Scott seemed to consider it for a fraction of a second. “No, I have to be here, and it’s really not Eichen House that’s bugging me. If anyone should be anxious, it should be Stiles and Lydia. You might want to—”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles replied, testily. “No one I care about is entering that hellhole without me. I don’t care if you are all supernatural bad asses. I really don’t.” 

“I mean … okay, I didn’t mean anything by it, dude.”

Stiles looked ashamed for a second.

Jackson shook his head. “Scott, is this about what happened at the club?”

“Yeah.” Scott’s eyes dropped to the ground. “The last twenty-four hours have been really weird.”

“What happened at the club?”

Scott checked to see that Lydia and Kira were busy trying to get someone to fetch the administrator. “The chimera, Lucas, came after all of us at the club, and Kira shouted something in Japanese and tried to kill him.” 

Stiles hesitated. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Stiles,” Scott breathed. “Kira doesn’t know any Japanese, and she was going to execute him with her sword.”

“But he was trying to kill you, though. Wouldn’t it be self-defense?”

Before Scott could answer, Jackson stepped in. “No, it wasn’t. Lucas was on the ground and unconscious. He was beaten. It would have been murder.”

The alpha looked up at Jackson and nodded. Stiles looked away before saying. “Maybe it was the heat of the moment?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Scott replied. “Everyone I’ve talked to confirms Corey’s story. Lucas was almost too shy for his own good. The chimera who attacked us wasn’t only aggressive, he was confident. Those men in the masks turned him into that.”

“Scott.” Stiles swallowed. “Tracy nearly killed Lydia. Lucas would have killed you.” He looked at Jackson. “In order to survive, we can’t fight with our hands tied behind our back.”

Jackson nodded. “I have to agree with Stiles on that. When we’re fighting we’ve got to be able to go all out, because we know that they will go all out. They’ll kill you.” He saw the look in Scott’s eyes. “Yeah, that included me, too. When I was being controlled, I would have killed every single person in that warehouse if Gerard had ordered me to. I’d probably be pretty bummed if you had killed me, Scott, but no one could have blamed you for it. I wouldn’t have given you any choice.”

Stiles didn’t smile, but he suddenly relaxed. 

“You didn’t have a problem with this last year at Argent Arms.” Jackson had been at the fight with the corrupt hunters trying to cash in on the Dead Pool. He, Mr. Argent, Satomi, Braeden, and Derek had all killed people during the battle. 

“That was different. Those men came there to kill us for money. They knew what they were doing. These kids? These chimeras? They’re being kidnapped and mutilated and set loose by these … Doctors … for no other reason but to see what they’ll do. Just like you weren’t sophomore year, Jackson, they’re not the bad guys,” Scott stated firmly. “They’re the victims. We shouldn’t be killing the people we’re trying to save.”

Stiles turned away sharply. “I’m going to see if Lydia and Kira need help.” He didn’t wait for either of their responses, and Scott and Jackson watched him walk away. Scott opened his mouth to call him back, but Jackson shook his head.

“Did I fuck up?”

“Nope.” Jackson shook his head. “This brings back memories, and that always sets him on edge. And I’m sure he’s still hurt.”

“Yeah. I can still smell the blood.”

Jackson frowned. “He needs to total that hunk of junk.”

“It was his Mom’s.”

“I don’t care if it was the Virgin Mary’s! The next time it’s not going to be the hood falling on him. Next time, he’s going to be running away from something that wants to kill him and it’s going to fail him.” 

Scott thinned his lips out. Stiles’ irritated voice rung out as he tried to convince the people inside that they had an appointment. 

Catching a scent, Jackson peered closer at the alpha. “What else?”

“Stiles’ jeep isn’t the only thing letting people down. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.” Scott looked back at Kira. 

“That’s a rather ominous statement. Want to explain yourself?”

Scott didn’t have the chance, because the gates to the pack’s favorite mental health facility swung open. It was time for them to brave the Echo House.

**~*~**

Jackson watched Lydia and Stiles disappear down the hallway on their way to interview Dr. Valack. He glared at the walls.

“Dr. Fenris, if the way to the Closed Ward is blocked with mountain ash, how do you get patients in and out?”

The man stepped in and ran his finger along the wall where the supernaturals could no longer proceed. “The mountain ash frames of both the cells and the corridor gates can be removed. It simply takes time, the right tools, and specific knowledge.” 

“But what about fires? What about emergencies?” Kira asked. 

“There are four corridors into the Closed Ward,” Dr. Fenris obviously enjoyed talking about the security precautions. “Two are like this. No supernaturals can pass but the human orderlies can. This gives us quick access. Two of the corridors have key-carded gates that are top-of-the-line security systems; the mountain-ash containment is in effect as long as the doors are shut. Each individual cell has a steel-reinforced polycarbonate door and windows. If the patient has unusual supernatural strength, an extra ashwood frame is used to reinforce their cells.”

“Wow.” 

“No resident of the Closed Ward has ever escaped this facility, not in a century of operation.”

Jackson snorted. “Except a nogitsune.”

Dr. Fenris raised an eyebrow. “That was before my time, Mr. Whittemore. And Mr. Stilinski wasn’t held under Closed Ward protocols. He was a voluntary commitment. We’re a hospital, not a prison.”

“You’re both, and you know it.”

“Jackson.” Scott’s voice suggested he step back a bit. Jackson followed his alpha’s instructions. Scott went and walked Dr. Fenris to the stairs, thanking him profusely. 

Kira stretched and rubbed at her shoulders. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Something about this place, Jackson. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I mean, physically uncomfortable. I feel like I’ve been on a Tilt-a-whirl too long. Why do you feel uncomfortable?”

“Where do I start?” Jackson snorted. “If things have gone differently, I might have ended up a patient in the Closed Ward. I don’t know how this place has passed even one state inspection, and my ex-girlfriend and my boyfriend are now in a part of this hellhole where I can’t follow them.”

“They’ll be fine,” Scott promised, coming back from the staircase. “Stiles and Lydia may not have super strength or samurai swords, but they’re pretty formidable for human beings.”

Jackson didn’t agree. It must have showed on his face. 

Scott looked at him. “Stiles is my best friend. Do you think that I would let him fight beside me against all the crazy things we’ve gone up against if I didn’t believe he could protect himself?”

“As if you had a choice.” 

“What?”

“I know my boyfriend. If you tried to bench him, he’d put you in traction.”

The alpha shrugged. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve never tried.”

“Is it weird for you?” Kira asked suddenly. She leaned back against the wall. 

“Are you okay?” Jackson looked at her; sweat was beading on her forehead. “And weird for me how?”

“I feel sorta weak,” she complained. “Stiles and Lydia being such close friends, especially when he had a crush on her.”

“Yeah,” Scott added. “It’s the mountain ash. It feels like I’m sort of sedated.”

Jackson had felt the same, but he had been too keyed up worrying for Stiles. “No. It’s actually pretty badass.” 

Scott smiled widely.

“The smartest person I know and the cleverest person I know have one thing in common: me. Scott, do you ever imagine what it would have been like if you and Stiles hadn’t entered Lydia’s and my life?”

“Probably a lot quieter,” The alpha joked.

“Sure. But I would have gone through high school never knowing who she truly was. I would have never gotten the chance to know who I truly am. Stiles’ an annoying, shouty, twitchy little freak, and he might be one of the best things that has ever happened to me. That has happened to Lydia as well.”

“Lydia?” Kira was shocked. 

“Stiles was the only one who saw past her mask,” Jackson said. “She used to pretend to be a Mean Girl Ditz.” 

Kira’s eyes bulged out. “Our Lydia used to pretend to be dumb?”

“Stiles was the only one who noticed,” Scott stated proudly. “He listened to what she didn’t say. He watched her when she solved every problem faster than anyone and then made mistakes on purpose. He remembered all the times the mask slipped.”

“Yeah. I didn’t notice. Not my finest effort,” Jackson grumbled.

“So what happened?” Kira asked and then realized what she had said.

“They became friends instead,” Scott said. 

“Yeah.” Jackson laughed. “I wonder …” He bit off his statement.

“What?”

“Never mind. It was stupid.”

“Jackson, come on. We’re friends here.”

“I’m only saying this because I know that neither of you will repeat this to another soul. Understood?”

Scott and Kira nodded. The lights flickered in the hallway. 

“Sometimes I wonder what life would be like now if I hadn’t made the mistakes I made. Who would I want to be with?”

“You can’t do that to yourself, dude.” 

“Well, alpha, you’ll find that I can. And you know what? I can’t make up my mind. Isn’t that sad?”

“No,” Kira said it so softly that they almost didn’t hear her. “Soul marks don’t exist. You cared about Lydia and you care about Stiles, and those feelings are both equally real. And true.”

“And both equally fucked up.” Jackson frowned. “Kira, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s just the mountain ash.”

“Scott, look at her. She’s glowing.”

The alpha turned. “Kira, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean, I’m not doing anything?” The weakened kitsune raised her hand and ribbons of St. Elmo’s fire ran up there. “I don’t know what’s happening?”

A look of concern crossed Scott’s face but it wasn’t surprise. Kira was too freaked out by what was going on, but Jackson caught it. Had Scott been expecting this? 

“Okay, your mother’s been teaching you on how to deal with this, right?” Scott stood next to her.

“Yeah, but I can’t meditate here!” Kira was starting to panic. Jackson was familiar with the horror of watching your body do something you weren’t expecting. 

“Yes, you can. Kira, I believe in you.” Scott reached out with a hand and got shocked, just a little. “Start meditating. You can do this.”

Shakily, slowly, Kira sat down on the concrete ground, back against the wall and closed her eyes. Jackson grabbed Scott by the wrist and pulled him back towards the main entrance. 

“What’s happening to her?”

“I don’t know!” Scott’s concern was written on his face.

“But you have an idea.” 

“I …” Scott lowered his voice to a whisper, so low that Kira couldn’t hear it. Jackson, himself, had to strain. “I looked at her this morning. Her fox spirit. It’s bigger! It moved by itself”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know!” Scott hissed at him, but Jackson clearly detected the smell of fear. The tinge of terror. 

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m …” Scott glanced over at his girlfriend. His face crumbled in doubt.

“She’s not the nogitsune.” It became clear to Jackson. Scott had had to deal with a fox spirit turning a person he loved against him. Now, he was afraid history was repeating itself.

“I know that.” Scott said, miserably. “But it … it feels the same. I can’t …”

“You don’t have to.” Jackson grabbed him by the shoulders. “But right now, we gotta think. Would it be safer to get her out of here?” 

They both heard it at the same time, but only Jackson knew what the noise meant: the high-pitched whirling and clicking, like alien insects. 

“They’re here. We gotta move.”

Both of them turned to find Kira passed out on the floor.

Dr. Fenris appeared from a side passage. “We’re losing containment! What are you kids doing?”

“Nothing!” Jackson replied.

Scott had rushed over to Kira, who seemed to be asleep. He bent over to touch her and was thrown across the room with a sound of thunder. 

“I think one of you is doing something. You have to get her out of here.” 

“All of us have to get out of here,” Jackson snapped. “They’re coming.”

Dr. Fenris tried to use his cell phone to reach the rest of the facility, but they weren’t working. Jackson bent over Scott, getting him to sit up. Scott’s healing was prodigious as an alpha, but electricity could do a number on him.

Scott used him to pull up. “We have to get her out of here. We have to get Lydia and Stiles out of here.”

“How are we going to help Kira? We can’t touch her!”

Dr. Fenris stood over them, but he was looking at the main staircase. What he saw there made his eyes go big. “Whatever you are going to do, you’d better do it now. Good luck!” He disappeared through the side doors. 

Jackson looked over his shoulder. The three scientists, which he now knew as the Dread Doctors, had appeared on the other side of a normal gate. 

“Jackson,” said Scott. “When I leave, follow me. Hopefully, they will, too.”

“What are you going to do?”

Scott didn’t answer, but he bent down and picked up Kira. The lightning flowed over him in waves, and Jackson got a strong whiff of cooking flesh. Scott kicked open the door to the emergency exit and disappeared into it. 

Jackson was left alone in the corridor. Instead of following Scott as he had been ordered, he first tried to go down the corridor to where Lydia and Stiles had gone, but he couldn’t get past the mountain ash. The Doctors opened the normal gate at the end of the hall. 

“Four corridors.” Jackson had a plan; he’d get to the one of the other corridors, assuming that Stiles would lead Lydia down one of them. He just had to get past three mad scientists, arrayed in a line. 

It happened to be a standard lacrosse defensive formation. 

The lead Doctor tilted his head to the side and switched out his lenses. 

“You looking?” taunted Jackson. “Watch this.” Then he made his move.

**~*~**

“He left you alone to face the Doctors’ by yourself!”

They were in Stiles’ bedroom, laying together, after they got back from Eichen House. 

“He did not.”

“Did you end up facing the Doctors by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Stiles flailed to indicate his point.

“He told me to follow him, and I chose to try to find a way to get to you and Lydia. He had to get Kira out of Eichen. You were the one who told me that the Doctors took advantage of Kira’s presence to get in.”

“Scott didn’t know that.”

Jackson raised on one elbow. “Scott has good intuition. You’re the one who told me that.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“Because what was he supposed to do? There were two of us and three of them. He put saving a pack mate first — exactly as he was supposed to do.”

Stiles’ heart was in the fight. He stared up at the ceiling. 

Jackson leaned in for a kiss, but Stiles turned his head away. 

“You should be happy, Stiles.”

“Should I?”

“You don’t see it, do you? In that situation, he trusted you to take care of two of the people he cares for most in the world: you and Lydia. He didn’t even think to worry about you.”

Stiles smiled. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“Thank you, but it probably won’t happen,” Stiles turned back. “But if you want to try that again, I’ll not move away.”

Jackson bent over and kissed him on the lips. Stiles had been withdrawn and sour all day, and he wanted to ease his. He nosed along the line of the neck, finding resistance, but feeling it melt. Soon Stiles responded and they put the thoughts of what happened at Eichen House behind them. They enjoyed the night and the intimacy of each other’s company.

They had to be quiet, because the sheriff was asleep in the master bedroom. He was tired. He had worked incessantly to try to identify some pattern that the Dread Doctors could be using. He had taken the knowledge that the Dread Doctors had the ability to alter memories stoically, but everyone in the pack that it had made his job ten times more difficult. 

Noah Stilinski needed his sleep.

Jackson and Stiles went to sleep. Eventually. Sex with Stiles wasn’t like sex with Lydia. Jackson had enjoyed it with her, and he had come to look forward to it, to rely upon it, but there had always been the danger he would ruin it by getting in his own way. He’d suddenly worry that he was fooling her, or she was fooling him, and it would become less intimate and more like a duel. 

Sex with Stiles wasn’t like the orgies he had in London with the varied members of the club. He had experienced types of sex that made what he had in Beacon Hills looked not just tame, but pedestrian. In the end, however, he had used them as a drug to erase bad memories and ease his conscience. 

Sex with Stiles wasn’t like the sex he had with Scott, which was about forgetting that they were predators in a world of sheep for a little bit. It was brutal and fun, even though Melissa and Helen complained about the number of times they needed to purchase new bedclothes. Both Scott and Jackson got something out of it. 

Sex with Stiles was nothing like those. It was nothing at all, though that was a trick. It was part of their relationship, like snapping at each other, like Jackson’s little flights of ego, like Stiles’ creeping anxiety, like how Jackson could listen to Stiles rattle on for hours, simply grunting to let his boyfriend know he was listening. It wasn’t conscious. It was like breathing. 

“Why am I always the little spoon?” Stiles often complained in bed.

“My fragile masculinity,” Jackson always responded.

“Your masculinity doesn’t seem so fragile when you’re sucking my —”

Jackson would silence him with a kiss, which is, in the end, exactly what Stiles had wanted.

It was the middle of the night and Stiles stirred. They were pressed up so closely together that Jackson couldn’t sleep if Stiles awoke. He didn’t mind it; he liked it that his bed partner couldn’t leave him behind. What he did mind was the scent of worry and regret coming off of Stiles.

Jackson held him for a few minutes, but Stiles wasn’t trying to leave. He wasn’t trying to go back to sleep, either.

“What’s wrong?”

“It won’t work.” Stiles’ voice was low and hard. “We’re going to lose.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do know that. You’re the one who has been telling me that I should embrace what I got from the nogitsune.” Stiles throat worked as he swallowed. “I have. I can sense the flaws in the world, which means I can sense the flaw on our side.”

Stiles voice was cold, but he wasn’t hostile to Jackson. 

“What is it?”

“Scott.” Stiles shook his head. “He’s the problem.”

Jackson blinked. He fought the urge to move and disturb Stiles’ rest. 

“How do you figure?”

“What are we doing, Jackson? You fought the Doctors, didn’t you? You told me all about them. They can make monsters. The can manipulate electromagnetic forces. They’re strong. They’re tough. They can make people forget they even saw them. Why are we fighting such terrible creatures?”

“To save lives.”

“Yet we’re not going to save anybody because Scott’s going to try to save everybody, even rabid chimera. He’s going to want trust everybody, even Theo.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jackson tried to soothe him.

“I do know that, because it’s happened before.” Stiles voice was not softening. “Scott refused to kill you, and Kara Simmons and four police officers are dead. Scott refuse to kill me, and Allison Argent, Aiden Steiner, and dozens of other people are dead.”

“Hey. That’s not your fault and that’s not my fault.”

“No. It’s Scott’s.”

Something bitter settled in Jackson’s stomach. “That’s bullshit.”

Stiles pulled himself up and out of Jackson’s embrace. “It’s not. Scott’s forged himself his own path, but it’s an impossible one, yet we’re all trying to follow it.”

“We follow it, because we believe in it. Scott showed us it can win.”

“Do you follow it? You told me, Jackson, that you killed several of those renegade hunters. You told me how you hid it from Scott. Do you really believe in him? Or do you want him to think you believe in him?”

“That’s …” Jackson bit his lip.

“He’s the True Alpha.” Stiles’ voice dropped to a whisper. “The one who doesn’t quit. The one who saves everybody. The one who won’t compromise about other people’s lives even to save his own. I’m not a True Alpha. Neither are you.” 

Jackson wanted to argue, but he put it to the side. He was sure that Stiles was just venting. He believed in Scott, but he knew, in his heart, that no one would ever believe in Scott more than Stiles. He would put it to the side for tonight. They’ll talk about it later, when Stiles wasn’t so worried about the Doctors.


	11. Required Reading (Part 1: Ready When You Are)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson attends the first meeting of the McCall Pack Book Club. It's not as fun as it sounds.

Jackson was the first to arrive at the McCall house for the packs group reading of the mysterious novel. It had otherwise been a normal day. He had spent it doing lawn work at his parent’s house, taking his father to his physical therapy, and watching a movie with his mother. Even with all that, he was still at the house at least a half hour before Scott had told everyone to be there. He hesitated as he parked his car, thinking about driving around for a bit, but only for a moment. He wasn’t sure where this anxiety was coming from, but he wasn’t going to let it bother him. He was a grown up. 

A truck he didn’t recognize sat in Scott’s driveway. The Toyota Tundra didn’t belong to a pack member, as far as he could tell, unless someone had got a new vehicle without talking about it. He walked up to the door.

Scott met him, his smile slightly wearing at the edges. “Hey.”

“How you holding up?”

“Fine.” Scott didn’t sound fine; he sounded defensive. “Why do you ask?”

“Because your girlfriend nearly cooked you medium well two days ago as you carried her comatose body out of an insane asylum which was under assault by mad scientists. That type of shit can leave a mark.”

Scott’s face wavered. What was happening to Kira — and his response to it — was still bothering the alpha. “It’s okay.” 

Jackson scowled at him.

“It will be okay.” Scott admitted reluctantly. “We’re going to make some progress tonight. We have to. You heard about the lacrosse pitch?”

“I did.” He shrugged. “It’s amazing anyone still wants to play with all the bad shit that’s happened on it.”

Scott chuckled, but it was forced. “Come on in. There’s food.”

Indeed there was. From the door, Jackson could smell egg rolls, enchiladas, potato salad and a vegetable tray. “You went for eclectic I see.” 

“I went for whatever was in the refrigerator.”

“You could have called, I could have picked up something.” Jackson paused as he picked up a different scent. “You invited him?”

“Yeah. Theo’s here.”

Scott kept walking back toward the kitchen so Jackson grabbed him by the sleeve. “You know, Stiles doesn’t trust him.”

“Not this again.” The alpha turned back to face Jackson. “Look, Stiles has got nothing …”

“He’s got his instincts.”

“Yeah.” Scott rubbed at his face. “Look, you know I trust Stiles to solve the mysteries we have to face. Hell, sometimes I worry that I let him do too much of the work when it comes to figuring things out, but I have to recognize that he can be wrong.”

Jackson pursed his lips, reluctant to speak.

“He was wrong about Deaton. He was wrong about Derek. He was wrong about Cora, about Lydia, about Kira and Liam. He’s been right, too. I know that, which is why I didn’t say anything when he tried to prove it to me.”

“Does he have to _prove_ it to you?”

“Yes.” Scott raised his voice, but then he lowered it immediately afterward. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting our asses kicked. There are eight more chimeras, and we don’t know who they are, what they can do, or even how it’s possible for them to exist. We know virtually nothing about the Dread Doctors, except they can apparently alter memories. These kids, these chimeras, are going to die unless we can help them. Right now, we need all the help we can get, and Theo has offered to help.”

“I’m sure he has.”

“Yes. He _has._ ” Scott took a breath to dispel his frustration. “He wants to be in the pack, but that’s not an unreasonable desire. Do I know without a shadow of a doubt that he’s not trying to screw us over? No. But I know he came to help me and Kira when Belasko attacked us. I know he came to help us when we were paralyzed at the clinic. I know he saved Malia’s life while we were at Eichen House.”

“What?” Jackson exclaimed. 

“Didn’t she tell you? She had a flashback to the car crash that killed her family. She ran out into the middle of traffic and would have died if Theo hadn’t pulled her out of it. So unless someone has a reason — a _real_ reason — not to trust him, I don’t really have much choice. People are dying, so I can’t be that picky.”

The alpha must have heard something shift in Jackson’s heartbeat. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Stiles might not like this.”

Scott sighed, briefly putting his hands over his face to compose himself. “If we were back in freshmen year that would be more than enough for me not to do it. Back then, wild horses couldn’t make me hurt Stiles’ feelings. But this is senior year, and I’m an alpha, and I’m the Protector of Beacon Hills, and that means I can’t let that matter. You _know_ that.”

“I … do.” 

“That doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect. If you know that there’s a good reason I should follow Stiles’ advice, you should tell me right away. Otherwise, I have to make the best call for everybody, and I can’t see how having another werewolf helping us out isn’t a good call.”

It was exactly the question of which Jackson had been afraid Scott would ask. His alpha had asked him directly a question which he knew that Stiles, his boyfriend, would not want him to answer. Stiles was still adamant that Scott not know about the traces of knowledge and empathic skills which had been left behind by the nogitsune. 

There was no more wiggle room. He was going to either have to lie to Scott or break his promise to Stiles. Jackson would have given anything to be anywhere else at that very moment. 

“No,” Jackson replied. Lying had never made him feel so uncomfortable before. 

“Okay.” Scott believed him, completely, relieved at Jackson’s judgement. “Try the enchiladas. Mom made them.”

Every square inch of counter space in the kitchen was occupied by some type of food, and it made his mouth water. He had meant to grab something later with Stiles, but instead he made a beeline for the egg rolls. He had never told Scott that he didn’t like Mexican food, for it might have gotten back to Melissa, and that had to be avoided at all costs. 

He surprised Theo who was standing on the edge of the counter, busily shoveling Scott’s mother’s homemade potato salad into his mouth. It looked ridiculous, like Theo was a starving street urchin and this was the last food in the known universe. The newcomer was so fixated on the salad that he didn’t notice Jackson enter the kitchen. 

“I guess someone likes McCall potato salad.”

It startled the other werewolf so much that Theo nearly dropped the plate. With an effort to swallow down the food already in his mouth, he put the plate in the sink and tried to regain the ability to look cool. 

“No shame in being hungry,” Jackson smiled, teasing a little. This guy was causing him personal trouble, so he perfectly justify in taking the opportunity to rib him.

“Uhm,” Theo began slowly. “I don’t get a lot of home-cooked meals.”

“Mom and Dad the busy type? Or bad cooks?”

“Something like that.” 

Theo turned away, still scrabbling for dignity, and began to wash his plate. “You’re here early.”

“I have more free time than the rest of the pack.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Theo put the plate in the dish rack without drying it. “You graduated last year.”

Jackson didn’t answer. Instead, he went over, got a paper plate from the cabinet and started piling it with egg rolls. 

“I imagine it has to be hard.” Theo leaned against the counter and tried to start up the conversation again.

“What would be hard?”

“Leaving the pack.”

“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I took a year off.”

“Huh.” Theo smiled. “I’d do that too, if I had a choice.”

“Do what?”

“Stick with the pack. It’s scary out there.”

Jackson popped an egg roll in his mouth, insouciantly. “For you, perhaps.”

“For anybody.” Theo went to the refrigerator and pulled out a Coke. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

Theo handed him a soda can that was well chilled. “It’s got to be different for one of us to move away to college. Imagine it.” The new werewolf shook his head. “Away from the pack, away from our parents, away from our friends. To be out there, walking among the humans, knowing that the slightest mistake could cause real problems for everyone. Regular teenagers have problems dealing with setting their own schedules and doing their own laundry. We would have to worry about things like finding a safe place for the full moon, making sure we don’t get hurt where people can see us, not letting stress over midterms make our eyes glow or our claws pop. It would be the normal social exclusion multiplied by a lot. We have to deal with being alone in a school full of people.”

“I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“So you see why I don’t blame you for putting it off a year. By waiting, you can stick with the people that understand you. Makes you feel safer.”

Jackson opened his Coke and took a drink to wash the sudden bitter taste from his mouth. He didn’t like that this punk had gotten the wrong impression. “I’m not here because I wouldn’t feel safe at college.”

Theo shrugged. 

“I’m here because I’m enjoying myself, if it’s any of your business. I’m here because, just like you, I want to be part of a pack, because that’s a good feeling.”

“Okay, okay.” Theo held up his hands, palms out to show he meant no harm. “No need to get defensive. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jackson wasn’t sure that was true. 

“I do remember you, Jackson, from the fourth grade.”

“That’s funny,” Jackson tilted his head to the side. “I don’t remember you at all.”

“Of course you don’t.” Theo gave him a big smile. “You were popular even back then. You were the class leader. Everyone wanted to be your friend, you know, but I didn’t like you, to be honest. I thought you acted as if you were better than everyone else, and I’m pretty sure you believed that. Now look at you; you’ve changed.” 

“Everyone changes.” Jackson couldn’t quite parse Theo’s words. Had he just been insulted?

Jackson grabbed his plate and his drink and headed out into the living room. He could hear Scott upstairs, doing something mundane in his bedroom.

“So who do you plan to go with?” Theo had decided to follow him.

“What?”

“Next year? I assume you’re going to go with either Scott or Stiles — your alpha or your boyfriend.”

“They’re planning to go to the same place,” Jackson replied smugly.

“Oh.” Theo sat down on the couch like this wasn’t his first time in this house. “How likely do you think that might be?”

Jackson put his plate down on the end table. “I don’t see why it can’t happen.”

“Your boyfriend may not be challenging Lydia for valedictorian anytime soon — no one is — but he can clearly get admitted to any school in the country. Scott … won’t.”

“Scott’s not stupid.” Jackson immediately flushed a little for defending his alpha that vehemently.

“I didn’t say he was, but his grades aren’t the best, and he’s not going to be able to tell the Stanford admissions office that pack wars and professional assassins ruined his GPA. I came here for him, but I decided I’m not going to put unrealistic expectations on him.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the Jeep pulling into the driveway. Jackson put his drink down and went to go greet Stiles. Theo’s words lingered with him though. As much as Stiles had the Vision, it was pretty unrealistic to think Scott and Stiles would go to the same school. It would require Stiles throwing away his potential just to stick near his best friend. And Jackson? Jackson didn’t have the same excuse. He had the money and the grades to go wherever he wanted. 

Did he really want to follow one of them? The thought of making that decision unsettled, so he pushed those considerations away, like he had when his parents brought them up.

**~*~**

The pack, plus Theo, stood around Scott’s dining room table. The original print of _The Dread Doctors_ and five photocopies of it lay spread on the table.

Lydia stared down at the book with a mixture of fear and curiosity. To cover her discomfort, she quipped, “My mom’s book club usually has more wine.”

Stiles played off of her, smoothly, as if they had been doing it forever, and not six months at most. “Well they also didn’t read books that caused violent hallucinations.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jackson pointed at the books. “All of us are going to read a book designed to evoke horrifying memories of being manipulated by mad scientists.”

“Pretty much,” Scott said.

“At least the food’s good.” Jackson bit into another egg roll. He had claimed them all.

“I’m not,” Malia supplied. “I already read it and had my violent hallucination, so I’m not reading it again.”

Theo chuckled out loud, which drew looks from everyone in the room. “Just thinking that’s a good attitude to have.”

“Malia will keep an eye on all of us, make sure we don’t do anything too violent.” Scott reassured everyone. “We’ll stay together tonight, so we can help each other through this.”

“Why are we doing this in the first place?” Kira asked, fretfully.

“Because I think we’ve been manipulated.” Lydia answer was firm.

This drew everyone’s attention with varying degrees of shock and concern, from Theo whose eyebrows shot up all the way to the top of his forehead, to Stiles, who flailed about, demanding to know in incoherent words why she thought that was true. Jackson, not particularly happy himself, reached out and grabbed Stiles’ hand to calm him.

“I’ve told some of you about my theories about how my powers work.” Lydia continued. “The more emotional disruption a death would cause me or the people I care about the more clearly I can hear it. It’s a blessing, obviously.”

“A blessing?” Scott stepped forward. “We live pretty violent …”

Lydia waved Scott’s concern off as if it were annoying. “Not the topic. I meant that if I were more sensitive to the death, I would constantly be hearing people die. I’m sure that wouldn’t be very beneficial to my health.”

“I don’t get it, Lydia. There were deaths that you didn’t scream for that were pretty emotionally devastating.”

“I recognize that, Stiles, but any power based on emotions is going to react to my own personal state when triggered. You remember last semester and the Walcott’s?” 

Everyone but Theo unfortunately did. 

“I didn’t sense the Walcott family’s death at the hands of the Mute until after Stiles became interested in the crime. His emotional reaction to the murders caused me to become more sensitive to what was going on in that house, which is how I discovered their larder.”

“Okay. But I never told you about my interest.”

“I don’t think you need to tell me. I suspect I’m in low-level telepathic contact with almost everyone I meet, but I only really listen closely to the people who mean the most to me.” Lydia blushed a little. 

“Your family. Your pack.” Scott nodded. 

“Correct. But here’s why I think this means that I’ve been manipulated. Tracy went to see my mother as guidance counselor, forming a connection, however remote, to me, which is why I subconsciously went to find her when she was having problems in the school hallway. I tried to help her and thus established a direct connection, which helped me figure out that she was still going after my mother and that my mother and the Sheriff hadn’t left the station for their date yet.”

“Okay.” Jackson was following along so far. It occurred to him that if this was true, his own killing spree might have caused her a lot of stress. 

“But I didn’t feel anything from Lucas.”

At that name, Scott’s mouth thins into a line, and Kira glances away from the table. 

“Not a thing?” Jackson asked, to get his mind off his own train of thought.

“Nothing. And I haven’t sensed anything about Donovan Donati.”

Stiles gripped Jackson’s hand so tight. “Why would you think that you would?”

“I told her,” Malia broke in, “that your father thinks he’s most likely a chimera, and that he thinks he’s still alive, but I think he’s dead.” 

“And if he were dead, considering his threats against your father, Stiles, I should have heard something.” Lydia concluded. “So, to my mind, that leads me to two possibilities. Either my powers don’t work anyway like I’ve been imagining them—”

“Lydia, you’re the smartest person here. What you’re describing fits most of the situations you’ve found yourself in.” Jackson defended her. 

“Thank you, Jackson.” Lydia gave him a smile. “Or, and this is more disturbing, the Doctors have done something to block me from hearing the deaths of chimeras.”

Scott frowned at that. 

“Soooo.” Stiles dragged the word out. “You’re sure you didn’t hear anything about … any chimera after Tracy?”

“No. And I’ve been paying close attention,” Lydia explains. “I keep a journal on my phone.”

“Why do you think that they’ve done something to you and not done something to their victims?” Kira asked. 

“I don’t know, but I have a means to find out.” She picked up the book. “And every time I look at the cover, I get this … feeling.”

“Like a memory trying to surface.” 

A hush fell over the room. Slowly they picked up copies of the novel and sat down to read it.

**~*~**

It was a little after midnight. Jackson was on the last chapter of the novel. He was certainly glad that it was mnemonic aid as much as a novel, because as far as novels went, it was pretty crappy.

The characters were flat stereotypes. They showed little development — basic emotions that fitted their tropes were rehashed again and again and again. They were stupid, doing things only because the plot needed them to do it and not behaving in a way that their two-dimensional personalities would indicate. 

Dr. Valack should very much keep his day job as sadistic-psychiatrist-slash-mutilated-psychic. 

In the quiet kitchen, Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee. He contemplated honey or sugar but decided in the end to drink it black. 

“You know,” a sleepy Lydia observed from the doorway from the living room, “you really can’t benefit from the caffeine in that drink. I made the coffee for Stiles, Kira, and me.”

“I do know. I nearly hunted Derek down the moment I realized that caffeine doesn’t work anymore. Yet that doesn’t mean I still don’t like the taste.” He turned back to her. “Want one?”

Lydia shook her head. “Nah. I’m probably going to go back to sleep in a bit. I finished the book.”

“Feel anything?” 

“No, but I didn’t expect to, right away. It’s obviously an unconscious process. If it does work, the memories will emerge when they’re ready to and not a moment before. Most likely, they’ll have to be some sort of trigger.”

“Which we can’t possibly know ahead of time. Wonderful. I’ll be careful driving home tomorrow morning. I’ll murder someone if I wrap my car around a tree due to some random flashback.” He sipped his coffee. “Wait a minute, Kira can benefit from caffeine?”

“I wondered when you’d work your way around to it.” Lydia smirked. “Unlike werewolves, kitsune have to trigger their healing process. So she can drink coffee, drink alcohol, take aspirin, and then trigger the healing and voila! No hangovers, no overcaffeination, no headache.”

“That settles it. I’ve determined not to like Kira anymore.”

“Oh, bother.” Lydia came in closer. “You know you like her. I do, too. It’s good to have friends.”

“You’ve had friends all your life.”

“There are friends, Jackson, and then there are _friends._ There are people you can go shopping with and then there are people you call when your life is about to explode. Kira’s of that latter sort. So are Malia, and Stiles, and you.” 

“Scott and Liam will be crushed.”

“Liam is a sophomore. I have standards.” Lydia tossed her head. 

Jackson grunted. 

“I guess … he and his little friend Mason haven’t proven themselves to me yet. It’s not like I wouldn’t do anything to save them, I would, but the list of people that I would call when I either need to watch _The Notebook_ or to get a rabid omega out of my formal parlor is small. They haven’t made it there yet.”

“And Scott?” 

“He’s my alpha.” She said it nonchalantly.

“What does that mean to you?”

“I have a responsibility to him and he has a responsibility to me that goes beyond friendship, no matter how intense that friendship grows. I will do as he says because he makes me better, and in return, he’ll help protect me and the people I care about. All of them.” 

“So you’ll follow his orders.”

“Of course!” She stated without a drop of sarcasm. “Though I will definitely bitch if I think they’re stupid. Not that he tends to give any orders, stupid or otherwise.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Jackson frowned slightly. “Speaking of the pack, where’s Liam?”

“He was going to go see some girl at Sinema.” 

“Why isn’t he reading the book with us? If we’ve been manipulated, he might have been as well.”

Lydia shrugged. “I guess that Scott didn’t invite him.”

“This is going to be a problem.”

“What?”

“Scott has got to stop keeping Liam away from pack activities if he wants Liam to feel like pack.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “If anyone is pack, it’s Liam.”

“Does he know this?” 

“You might be right, but I’m guessing Scott’s a little overprotective of Liam.”

Jackson crossed his arms in front of him. “I don’t think, if I were Liam, that it would feel like him being overprotective. I guess it would feel like being excluded.”

Lydia pursed her lips in thought. “Scott might assume that Liam would like to be excluded from reading a novel that might cause him to have terrifying hallucinations.”

“Then he assumed wrong. I think that Scott is confusing Liam with himself. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Scott would like to be excluded from reading that novel.”

Lydia glanced over him. “Wouldn’t we all?” She went back into the living room.

Jackson sipped at the coffee. He was warming his cup up at the pot when it occurred to him what Scott was doing. Scott was trying to give Kira and Liam what he thought they wanted without listening to what they actually did want. He didn’t want to tell Kira about her fox spirit not only because he was terrified of it but also because he wanted Kira to be able to do normal things. He didn’t make Liam come tonight because he wanted Liam to be able to see this girl whom Mason had hinted Liam was kind of stuck on. 

“Dumbass,” Jackson muttered.

It was a repeat of the same problem that helped cost him his relationship with Allison and, luckily for Jackson, led Scott to push Jackson to help Stiles in the wake of the nogitsune. Scott’s urge to protect people often stampeded right past aiding people to face danger and into isolating them from all danger. It wasn’t his right to do so. 

But then again, Scott had also led Allison to her death because he had stopped trying to keep her out of things. It might not be possible for someone to reach the alpha about what he might be doing to Kira and Liam.

Jackson pushed it from his mind. These things could wait until after the Dread Doctors were dealt with.


	12. Required Reading (Part 2: Please, Don't Say Anything)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson's pleasant afternoon is interrupted by some unpleasant memories, courtesy of Valack's schlock novel.

The next day found Jackson asleep in his own bed until way past eleven. He could have risen at the break of dawn when his alarm went off, but he didn’t feel the urge. Instead he had rolled over, had turned the clock off, and had pulled the covers over his head. When he finally chose to get up, the rest of the pack must have had been trapped at the high school for hours, suffering through another day of class with little sleep. 

“Losers,” he joked aloud, motivated more by nostalgia than any real animosity.

Even after he decided not to go back to sleep, he didn’t get out of bed immediately. He pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched out his arms over his head to work out the kinks; the high thread-count sheets pooled around his waist. With one hand, he selected his ‘morning music’ play list with the stereo remote on the bedside table. This list was mostly soft nineties rock mixed in with a few New Age composers. 

He never played that particular list around Stiles. He didn’t want his boyfriend getting the idea that he was a closet emo.

A glance at his phone told him it’d still be half an hour before he could text anyone at the school without interrupting their classes, so he languidly got dressed. He’d wait for lunch time, even for Lydia tough her classes were all voluntary.

Helen was there when he wandered into the kitchen; his mother was perched on a chair at the island and sipping a glass of what might have been tea. When he sat down across from her, she picked up a plate from the counter behind her and slid it in front of him. 

“Chicken salad? What’s the occasion?”

Helen waggled her finger at him. “Don’t be smart. This is really good chicken salad. I bought it at Kroger.”

“I was more talking about the fact that you made me lunch.”

“What’s so surprising? I like to take care of my boy.”

“You just said you bought it at the store.”

“It didn’t manage to get out of the container and spread on the bread by itself. I also cut the crusts off.”

Jackson couldn’t help but smile. “So, I say again, what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing more that we’re home for lunch at the same time. That really doesn’t happen often, about which I’m not complaining.”

“It’s happened more often recently.”

“Your father is still recovering, but he won’t — thank God — be like this forever. I think having to take it so easy would kill him, or I would end up killing him. Things will return to normal for us and you’ll start doing what you want to do.” Her subtle hint wasn’t so subtle but Jackson didn’t let the smile die on his lips. It barely counted as nagging. “I’ll take these days as they come, so eat your store-bought chicken salad.”

Jackson made a great show of taking a bite out of the sandwich.

“And you should shower.” She grimaced. “Soon?”

“Huh?”

“I know your bedhead when I see it.” She laughed. “What’s your plan for this afternoon?”

 _I am going to wait to see if a memory of being experimented on by mad scientists surfaces_ would not be the answer Jackson wanted to give. “My afternoon’s free before my untimely death.”

Helen paused, confused. 

“I’m going to make another attempt to teach Malia how to drive.” 

“Oh, dear.”

“At least, it’s not my car.” He winked. “Did you have anything you needed me to do?”

“Not really. The lawn looks like it will keep until next weekend; I’ve read several stories that it’s better for the environment not to cut it too often. Your father will be at the office all afternoon, and I have a meeting of the Beacon Hills Symphony Steering Committee at three, which I’m sure will be very aggravating.” She rolled her eyes; she was definitely where he got that skill from.

“So. Lazy day for me.”

“The term, Jackson, is called leisure. Lazy is when you have things to do and you don’t do them, because you’d rather sit on the couch and watch bad soap operas. Relish these days. Unfortunately, even for people like us, you end up not having as many as you might like.”

Jackson just nodded, his mouth full of sandwich.

“If you want something to do, could you drop off these at Mrs. Fitzgerald’s? I’d mail them, but it seems a waste.”

“Sure.” Jackson stopped eating long enough to get a can of soda from the refrigerator. The Fitzgerald’s house three blocks down. “No problem.”

After lunch and a shower, Jackson watched a little Weather Channel. Beacon Hills was enjoying the warm days of September, but autumn was slowly creeping up on them. He had a mind to take Stiles somewhere special. His first choice would be to use the family boat on Lake Almanor. His parents had taken it out almost every weekend during previous summers, but his father hadn’t thought it a good idea to do it while still recovering from his heart attack. 

He could take Stiles there, and they could spend the weekend alone. Scott wouldn’t mind; the alpha always insisted that they should take time, even in the midst of crises, to be normal. Anyway, reading the book had seemed to be a bust, and it was the pack’s only clue about Dread Doctors.

Were they really going to call them that?

Jackson scooped up the packages for Mrs. Fitzgerald. Mom had already left for her meetings, announcing her plan to do a little shopping before her meeting. He didn’t even know what was in them, but he was sure they were probably something for the charity where his mom and Mrs. Fitzgerald volunteered.

It was strange how much the neighborhood hadn’t changed as he grew up yet how much it had _completely_ changed. The houses were all the same. The roads were all the same. Mr. Norman still walked his annoying yapping dog which lunged at anyone walking by like a guided missile. But now Jackson’s senses told him so much more about the neighborhood. He could sense that the Dobsons had a new child. He could sense that Mr. Thackery had been drinking again. He could sense that Ms. Feliz in the house across the street had burned something sweet — probably cookies.

Okay, to be accurate, this place hadn’t changed. He had.

Mrs. Fitzgerald was glad to see him, changed or not. She stood on the front stoop of her home and happily engaged him in small talk for a good half-hour. The Whittemores had known the Fitzgeralds for years. Helen had gone to school with Marjorie, and Jackson remembered afternoons playing with Marjorie’s daughter, who was now a sophomore at UCLA. He guessed it was tough for the older woman to be by herself all day. 

The sun felt good on his shoulders when he finally started his walk home. He wasn’t due at the Tate’s until after dinner, when he had insisted that he would give Malia another driving lesson. She was going to learn how to drive her new car even if it killed him. 

He chuckled. Probably not the best words to say in Beacon Hills right now, but he liked to live dangerously.

As he turned onto the sidewalk, he passed under the lilac bushes Mrs. Fitzgerald grew near her front lawn, the words echoed in his mind. _Live dangerously._

Jackson stopped and his breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t know why. No one was near him. A lone dog barked innocently a few houses over. But he felt terrified of something. Someone. 

He remembered rough hands much larger than his grabbing him before he had time to run.

**~*~**

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s lilac bushes were in full bloom. Heavy clusters of flowers bobbed in the late spring breeze and their scent filled the air. The May sun was quickly disappearing over the hills surrounding town and the alleys behind each house held pools of shadow filling slowly.

Jackson dawdled on his way home. He wanted to stay and eat dinner with the Fitzgeralds because Cindy had promised to show him her new game. He had seen it at her birthday party, but he hadn’t got to play it. Yet Mom had made it very clear he was to be home for dinner. 

He thought about misbehaving, but while Mom wouldn’t get angry with him like other moms did, she would be disappointed. When she got disappointed, she would make him go to his room, and for hours the house would be quiet. When he’d been over at other kid’s houses and they had done bad things, their moms would yell.

He had been so busy thinking about his mom being different than other moms that he didn’t even see the ragged man behind the bushes. Jackson didn’t seen him move; he only felt the man grab his arm and yank him behind through the bushes and into the yard. By time Jackson realized something terrible was happening, the man had slapped a hand over his mouth.

The fear caught up with Jackson soon enough; he flailed, and kicked at the man, but his abductor’s grip had been like iron. His kidnapper sprinted away from the Fitzgerald house, running so incredibly fast that houses were a blur to Jackson. Jackson had bit the man’s hand, like he had seen people who were kidnapped on the television 

The taste of blood had been weird in his mouth.

“Ow!” The man exclaimed, and then he growled like a dog. Jackson had felt something like needles prick his cheek, but the man didn’t stop running and he didn’t let go.

Things happened so fast that it felt like a dream. Carrying Jackson, the man ran between houses and down alleys even as cars whizzed past on the street, filled with people coming home from work. Backyard bug zappers had hummed to life. Someone should have seen a man carrying a little boy, but no help came. 

Suddenly they were in the Preserve, though not too deep — just deep enough that they couldn’t see any houses. The man stopped running, breathing only a little heavily. He put Jackson down yet kept one hand gripped firmly on Jackson’s arm.

Jackson wanted to be brave, but he wasn’t. His body shook with fear no matter how hard he tried to stop. He sniffled, pathetically.

“If you make any noise, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Jackson swallowed some of his panic. “If you don’t want me to make noise why do you want me to cry?”

The man had glared at him so meanly that Jackson tried to take a step back. “Oh, yeah, you’re one of them.”

“Who?”

“You’re a Hale all right. Arrogant brat.” The man yanked Jackson a few yards deeper into the woods, while taking a cell phone out of his pocket with other, now uninjured, hand. 

“I’m a Whittemore!” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” A pause. “Quietly.” He had dialed a number and someone on the other side picked up immediately. “I’ve got him.”

Jackson’s moment of defiance had vanished. He was in the woods with a strange man and even though he was only seven he knew what happened to children who got taken away by men, even men who were as stupid as this guy. He wanted his mom and dad; tears began to fall down his cheeks.

“Just get here. The sooner we’re out of Beacon County, the happier I’ll be.” The mam looked over at Jackson and sneered. “Oh, great, now he’s blubbering.”

“Am not.” Jackson had shoved one fist into his eye. 

“Just get …” The man had trailed off, shutting the phone down and sliding it into his pocket. He cocked his head to the side and through his tears Jackson thought he saw the man’s brown eyes glow blue for a moment. “Be quiet.” The man had hissed.

Jackson followed the man’s line of sight as far as he could. He was still scared, but it had made him happy to see that the man was scared now as well. His fingernails had grown very long though and they looked kind of like a cat’s.

“Let the boy go.” 

The man had been looking in one direction and so had Jackson, but the woman had appeared not five feet away in a completely different direction. Jackson thought it had to be a magic trick. The man’s hand had tightened around his so hard that it hurt, when he had turned and seen the woman standing there.

The woman had long black hair, a very pretty flowing dress with bright colors, and a very kind face. She didn’t look angry, but her words sounded like a teacher’s when they were angry. 

“You know who I am, so you know that this is over.”

“How did you know?” The man had sputtered. 

There was the faintest look of exasperation her face. “As if I’m going to tell you that. You can go back to your pack …”

“I don’t have one!” The man had shouted. 

“Is this what she promised you?” The woman’s eyes softened. “If you stole this child, you’d have a place? Surely, you understand how these things work. She wouldn’t keep you around.”

The man was trembling but he was also angry. He jerked Jackson closer to him and Jackson tried not to cry out, but he did. 

“You don’t know that. She wants this little brat more than you can imagine.”

The beautiful woman frowned. “I know exactly how much she wants him and why. I’m going to give you a chance. On my word as alpha, if you let that child go right now, you’ll be able to walk out of Beacon County a free man. No one will come after you. No one will ever speak of this again.”

In answer, the man growled. Jackson didn’t want to whimper. He tried to pretend he was like one of those heroes he saw on television. 

The woman shook her head. “Have it your way. Jackson, my name is Talia. I’m a friend of your mother, Helen. Would you do me a favor and close your eyes?”

“I’m in charge here!” The man shouted once again, but Talia ignored him. 

“Close your eyes and keep them close until I tell you, okay?”

Jackson nodded and did what he was told. There were more snarls, like angry dogs, and then there was rush of wind. The man let go of him and Jackson fell to his knees, but he didn’t open his eyes. There was the sound of tree limbs breaking. Or maybe it was something else. The noises were over within seconds and then someone picked him up. 

“You can open your eyes, darling.”

Talia was carrying him out of the forest; he hadn’t been aware that she had picked him up. He tried to look back to where he had been standing with his abductor, but Talia laid a hand on his cheek and kept him from turning his head that way. The hand was gentle and warm but it was also very firm.

“I want my mommy.”

“I’m taking you to her,” Talia promised. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No.” He sniffled once again. 

“That’s good. We’re going to your home.”

She was as good as her word, and she walked steadily out of the forest. Jackson stared down at the ground where he had noticed something.

“You aren’t wearing any shoes.”

“No.” Talia laughed. “I’m not.”

“Mom won’t let me run around outside without any shoes.”

“I usually wear shoes, but I heard what had happened I didn’t put them on.”

“Oh.” Jackson took in a breath. “Why did that man want to take me?”

Talia didn’t answer right away but kept on walking. They were on the street now, but they weren’t far from Jackson’s road.

“Some people want things, Jackson, so much that they forget that wanting is not the same as deserving.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay. Not many people do. Promise me that you will remember one thing.” 

Jackson still didn’t understand what she meant, but he promised anyway.

Talia looked him in the eye. “The only person to whom you really belong is _you._ ” 

Before Jackson knew it, they were standing at the front door of their house. Talia rang the bell even though Jackson said he could open it. When Helen came out, she was shocked to see them and then when Talia told her what happened, she burst into tears. Helen brought them inside and then called David home from work. 

They laid Jackson down on the couch and Helen covered him with a comforter. Jackson must have fell asleep, warm and safe at home, because he woke after he didn’t know how long to hear hushed whispers.

“David!” Helen admonished as quietly as she could. “Keep your voice down.”

“I am keeping my voice down.” His father was very angry. “I want to know how this could possibly happen. Adoption records are sealed.”

Talia’s voice was strong and quiet. “There are ways to find out, even with precautions.”

“I want this man arrested! I want this man sent to jail!” 

“Mr. Whittemore, as much as I understand where you’re coming from, that’s not going to be possible. I know who is behind the attempt and they will be dealt with.” Talia had that same pleasant tone of command, as if obeying here would the easiest thing in the world.

“He’s my son! He’s our son now. I want him safe.” His father had that he had heard his mother described as his down-to-business voice. “I want the people responsible punished to the full extent of the law.”

“Again, I’m going to have to tell you that it’s not going to be possible. I will handle it, personally, but the police _cannot_ be involved.”

“David,” his mother cautioned. 

Jackson opened his eyes and saw his father sit angrily on his chair. 

“The details of what we did to arrange Jackson’s adoption _for you_ cannot become public knowledge,” Talia said in a dire voice. “Trust me, David. Trust me as you once did, and I’ll keep your family safe.”

“Mom? Dad?” Jackson sat up. “I’m adopted?”

The three adults in the room looked at him like he had set off some sort of bomb. Talia stood up. 

“I think that’s my cue to leave.” She headed out the door.

David came over to sit down next to him. Helen came to sit down on the other side. 

“Honey, we have a lot to talk about.”

**~*~**

“Jackson? Oh, wake up, please. Are you all right?”

Jackson’s eyes fluttered open. “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

“Oh, thank God. You were passed out in my lilacs!” The older Mrs. Fitzgerald was nearly frantic with concern. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No.” Jackson pushed himself up, shaking old images from his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

It was a good thing he could lie even with his head swimming as it was, but even a bad lie was much better than telling his mother’s friend that he had recovered a suppressed memory of his biological aunt saving him from a rogue omega which his parents must have known about. Way better. 

“Should I call your parents?”

“No, please. I’m good to go home.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald frowned. “If you’re sure.”

“It’s not that far away. I’ll be fine.” 

Jackson patted her on the shoulder and then walked home. His vision was still a little smeared with the force of the memory. Now that he had remembered it, he kept remembering it. How had he forgotten that he had been saved by Talia Hale?

He could understand why he had suppressed that memory, after all. It would have been traumatic enough on its own, but it had also happened immediately before his parents had told him he was adopted.

That day had always been a traumatized blur.

By the time he reached his home, though, his head was clear, but his mind was filled with fury. He hurried inside, because he could feel his eyes glowing as his heart rate climbed. Things had been bad enough with the chimera and the Doctors, but the rug had been ripped out from under his feet again.

Jackson flung himself down on his bed after snagging his laptop up over his table. Who could tell him the whole story? He started typing an e-mail to send Derek, but then he realized that Derek would have been fifteen back then and mired in the death of Paige Kraiskeva. He wouldn’t know anything. Peter was gone. Talia was dead.

“Deaton.”

No one picked up at the animal clinic. With a snarl, Jackson remembered that Scott mentioned something about Deaton going on a trip. He dialed the alpha immediately.

“Hey, Jackson.”

“Where’s your boss?”

“I don’t know.”

“How the hell do you not know? Isn’t he your Emissary?”

There was a pause on the other line. “Deaton said he was leaving to track down some information on who could be creating the chimeras. I didn’t ask him where he was going but he said he would be gone for a few days.”

“You didn’t ask?”

There was another long pause. “No.” Jackson could imagine Scott grimacing at his oversight. It just made Jackson angrier. “Is there an emergency? I can text him.”

“It’s not an emergency, though I have to wonder if you think that you might eventually learn how to keep track of your fucking pack, Scott? You think that might be something useful to practice?”

“Jackson, what’s wrong?”

Jackson took in a deep breath. Everything. Everything was wrong. “Where the hell are you right now?”

“Theo, Malia and I are going to the hospital.”

“Why?”

Scott explained that they had found evidence that a chimera had been tearing at the electrical system of the high school and that Stiles and Lydia had reported that there was also electrical problems at the hospital, so they were going to look for the chimera there.

“I’m on my way.”

“You don’t—”

“Yes, Scott, I do.” He hung up. Everything was frustrating to him now. His body itched from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He had been involved in this for far longer than he had ever imagined, but he hadn’t known. People had hid things from him and while he couldn’t imagine that they did it out of anything but love, trying to protect him.

His parents had arranged to adopt him directly from Talia Hale. Had they already known about Peter Hale being his father? Did they know who his mother was? Did they know about the supernatural? Was that why they were so _lenient_ with him?

He didn’t need protection. He needed the truth.

Jackson grabbed his jacket, his wallet, and his car keys, bolting out the door. He needed the comfort of his friends right now — the people who would never lie to him like the people who had been lying to him all his life.

The Porsche roared down the street on the way to the hospital. It wasn’t until he noticed he was passing every car on the road that he realized he was driving eighty in a forty zone. He slowed down, mastering his thoughts the way he had been taught.

It was obvious that he was over-reacting. He pulled over to let the feelings rushing through his body subside. 

Jackson’s mind wouldn’t let him calm down immediately. He had once told Lydia that they were destined to be involved in the supernatural the others like Scott and Stiles had not been. Yet, to know the truth was more than he could take.

Talia hadn’t just dropped him off at the Whittemores and let him grow up. She had kept an eye on him, because he was important. Or maybe he wasn’t important — maybe he was just a danger. But no one could tell him which it was. No one but Deaton, who was — for fuck’s sake — out of town. 

He practiced his breathing exercises for a few minutes. Then, when he felt more stable, he started the car up again. He drove to the hospital, this time at a reasonable speed. He’d find Stiles to talk about it, because Stiles was the best person in this case. Malia would be tempted, reasonably, to make it about her. Scott would try to see the best possible scenario. Lydia would try to break it down to basic facts, excluding emotions, but the problem really wasn’t a logical problem.

Stiles would be able to figure out both the mystery that faced Jackson and the feelings behind it. He needed Stiles.

But when he got to the hospital, no one could find Stiles, until Scott got a text, saying that Stiles and Theo had left to go to the animal clinic together.

Jackson didn’t like that at all.


	13. Strange Frequencies (Part 1: Defend Yourself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson struggles to hold it together after his repressed memory shakes him to the core. The pack begins to splinter.

Jackson drove into the animal clinic’s rear parking lot, following the tail lights of Scott’s dirt bike through the darkness. After a brief discussion at the hospital, they had decided to take separate vehicles since things were happening so fast now they barely had time to think let alone manage to carpool. 

When he had put the Porsche into park, Jackson hesitated, his hands resting on the wheel. He couldn’t keep his recovered memory from distracting him, and everyone needed him to do that immediately. The pack was in danger; he could feel it in his bones. A tipping point had been reached, and they were out of position. Yet, he sat there behind the wheel of his car, worked up over things that had happened over a decade ago. 

“Jackson?” Scott tapped on the driver’s side window. 

“Uh. Yeah. Right.” Jackson hurriedly got out of the car, trying to pretend as if there was nothing wrong.

Scott wasn’t fooled, looking very concerned. “Are you okay?”

Shrugging his shoulder exaggeratedly, Jackson tried to slide past his friend.

“You yelled at me on the phone.” Scott grabbed him by the shoulder. “In a way you haven’t yelled at me since sophomore year.”

“I’m sorry about that, I—”

“Did you experience a repressed memory?” 

Jackson took in a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk about it until he had processed it, and he wasn’t close to processing it, but he owed Scott at least a little of the truth. “Yes.”

“Pretty bad, huh?”

Scott’s voice held a note that implied he knew this from first-hand experience. Jackson turned to the alpha, narrowing his eyes. “Did you get one?”

“Lydia’s was so bad, she fainted.”

“Is she okay?” 

“Yeah. She remembered visiting her grandmother at Eichen House only to find she had drilled a hole in her head.”

“Oh!” Lydia and Lorraine had been very close. “Maybe I should—” 

“She insists she’s fine, which means she’ll kill us if we stick our noses where she doesn’t want them to be. Anyway, she had to go home and deal with Natalie being clingy. Let’s go see what Theo and Stiles have for us.”

Now, it was Jackson’s turn to physically stop Scott. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah.” Scott looked as if he didn’t want to talk about his recovered memory any more than Jackson did. “My memory caused an asthma attack. In fact, it was the memory of my first really bad attack.” 

“You had an attack? But I didn’t think you could.” 

“I think it was psychosomatic, but it was more than that.” 

Jackson was getting good at reading his alpha’s ways of thinking. “Something happened when you ran into one of the Doctors at the hospital.” 

“Yeah.” Scott frowned, seriously. “He caused another one, on purpose. He smashed my inhaler. If it wasn’t for my mother and Malia …”

“You don’t think that it’s a coincidence, do you?”

“No.” The alpha looked grim. “A book designed to trigger traumatic memories which has been out of print for years shows up in a victim’s bedroom. It leads us to Eichen House, where Kira just happens to short out the defenses that had kept the Dread Doctors from getting to a man with psychic powers who happened to be obsessed with getting revenge on them. This same book that causes us, when we read it, to have debilitating flashbacks? We were set up.”

Strangely enough, it made Jackson feel a little better, and while he wasn’t entirely okay, the idea that the flashback was an attack made it easier for him to stomach. On the other hand, the timing of the Doctors’ had been frighteningly efficient.

“Scott, do you think they’re real memories?”

“Yes.” Scott said heavily. “At least mine was. Let’s go.”

Theo and Stiles stood waiting in the back room, but they weren’t alone. A corpse lay on the same table where Tracy’s body had lain, covered by a similar cloth. It bore the same smell of blood and the very faint chemical smell that both of the other recently dead teenagers had possessed. 

“Another chimera?” Jackson demanded.

Stiles silently folded back the sheet, showing a boy younger than Jackson, whose throat had been savaged throat. 

At the look on the alpha’s face, Stiles asked. “Did you know him?”

“Josh Diaz.” Scott said sadly. “He was a junior.” The alpha’s voice was full of frustrated regret, as Stiles covered the boy back up. “Which one of them did it? Was it the one with the cane?”

“Yeah,” Theo admitted. 

Theo was the one who answered, but he wasn’t the person whom Jackson was interested in. Stiles didn’t say anything and he remained appropriately somber, but his scent and his heart rate screamed at Jackson that there was a problem. Jackson had, in their time together, become intimately familiar with Stiles’ darker moods. He kept a particularly close eye for what he called _spending time with the fox._ Stiles hid it as best he could, but he sometimes spiraled into a place where he was not only insecure about the love of his family, the love of his friends, or about Jackson’s love, but he also believed that he deserved everything the world had thrown at him. 

Stiles was currently in that place; Jackson was sure of it. There was something wrong with this whole scenario and Stiles knew what it was, but wasn’t going to tell anyone.

Jackson remained quiet as Theo, Scott, and Stiles discussed the necessity that someone was going to have to watch the body. Theo volunteered with some self-depreciating humor, and Jackson grinned at him as if he had bought the act. Tonight, however, Jackson decided he was going to have words with the new werewolf.

Their deliberations were interrupted by a panicked call from Liam. Scott immediately rushed to his beta’s side, but when Stiles made to follow after him, Jackson snagged him by the back of his shirt. 

“We’ll catch up!” Jackson shouted at the alpha’s retreating back. 

“Jackson! What are you doing?” Stiles protested. 

Jackson waited until he heard the roar of Scott’s motorbike. “Getting to the bottom of what actually happened with him.” He jerked his head toward the corpse. “I want to know what you two weren’t willing to tell Scott.” 

Theo’s posture immediately changed. He wasn’t frightened, but he was alert. Oh, yeah, something had gone on.

Stiles tried to shake out of Jackson’s grip. “Let go. Didn’t you hear the call? Liam needs us.” 

“Yeah, I guess he does, Stiles. And we’ll go — as soon as you tell me what really happened at the hospital.”

Stiles went stock still. He turned around slowly, and the look on his face almost made Jackson relent. Almost. 

“I killed him,” Theo announced. 

Jackson turned to Theo; Stiles’s heart nearly exploded in his chest. 

“He was trying to kill Stiles, and I stopped him.”

“Is that true?” Jackson looked at Stiles. “Was Josh trying to kill you?”

Stiles was staring straight at Theo like he was trying to take his skull off and examine what was inside to figure out how it worked. His fingers tapped arrhythmically on the metal examination table. 

“Stiles?”

“Yes.” Stiles swallowed. “He was trying to kill me.”

Jackson looked at both of them. “Then why didn’t you tell Scott? Why lie to him?”

Stiles still didn’t answer.

“Scott wouldn’t understand.” Theo began and then looked Stiles in the eyes. “At least, that’s what I’ve been led to believe.”

“That’s not what I said!” Stiles snapped. 

“Oh?” Theo tilted his head to the side. “Maybe I misunderstood what you said a few days ago, _Stiles._ ”

Pointing a finger at Theo, Jackson threatened. “Take a dozen steps back, Haircut. Stiles, what’s going on?”

His boyfriend turned away and began to pace around the room. “Do you really think that Scott would understand? Do you really think he’d be okay with someone just killing a chimera? He didn’t seem too thrilled by Kira’s fox trying to kill Lucas.”

“Scott’s got a soft spot for these chimera—”

“Scott’s got a soft spot for everyone!” Stiles snapped back. 

“Hey.” Jackson stepped forward and grabbed Stiles by his upper arms. “Look at me.” Stiles looked away, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull away. Jackson scent Theo a glare. 

“I’ll just be in the other room,” Theo promised and wandered into the lobby. 

“You understand why these chimera are hard for Scott to deal with right?” Jackson asked gently. 

“Yes.” Stiles said testily but then he thought about it. “Maybe.”

“Tell me if this sounds familiar. In the middle of a night, a teenager is targeted by an evil force of which they have no comprehension. This force takes them, changes them, and released them to be a threat against everyone they care about. It’s the same story, Stiles. You told me about how Scott was during the first few days after he was bit, how he feared hurting you and his mother and Allison.” 

Stiles nodded. 

“He looks at Tracy killing her dad and sees himself killing his mother. He looks at Lucas stinging that Corey guy, and he sees himself hurting you. He may not have known how scared you were back then, but he has an idea now.”

“You think it’s that simple? That after all this he’d—”

“I think he’d be grateful that Theo saved your life.” Jackson nodded strongly. “And so am I. But he’s going to be disappointed that you _lied_ to him.”

Stiles looked more despondent than Jackson thought he would. “I know.”

“On the bright side, you finally have what you need to get rid of Haircut.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence and Stiles pulled away. “He’s not so bad.”

“So you’re not convinced he’s the devil incarnate anymore?”

Stiles hesitated. “Not entirely.” He brightened up. “He did save my life. And Malia’s life.”

Jackson felt ashamed. “Yeah. I’ll apologize to him. Sounds good.” He hugged Stiles.

**~*~**

The bench outside the Sheriff’s office was very uncomfortable. Jackson could feel scars in the wood from when the bomb had gone off in the sheriff’s personal office. They still tended to chain offenders to the bench before they put them in the holding cells, and that thought made it even more uncomfortable for him.

He tried not to make eye contact with any of the deputies working in the bullpen, which was also difficult because they were trying to be friendly. He had come in to talk to the sheriff voluntarily, so they weren’t treating him like a criminal. Gossip had probably told them that he was dating the Sheriff’s son, so they even tried to make conversation with him. It was so awkward.

Jackson couldn’t relax inside this building. The memories it invoked were vague yet undeniably true. Sitting there, everyone once in a while he’d feel the echo of Matt’s touch upon his mind. The only marginal grace was that no one here would be able to recognize him from that night, but that was only because he had killed every deputy on duty.

Valerie Clark, especially, tried to get him to talk. She was vivacious, professional, and competent, and Jackson found himself liking her immediately. Of course he did, because his life sucked, and he had to remind himself that Scott and Liam had just discovered the night before that her younger sister was a chimera. Tonight, they were going to try to protect Hayden from the Doctors that had experimented on her.

But they couldn’t tell Valerie that so he made small talk with a fake smile plastered to his face.

“Jackson?”

He blinked and looked to his left, startled to find the Sheriff standing at the door of his office.

“You needed to see me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on in.” Noah shuffled him into the office. “Is this something I should close the door for?”

Jackson nodded and glanced back at the deputies. 

“Have a seat.” The sheriff closed the door firmly and then took his own chair. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

His throat was so dry. Jackson had only suspicions about why he wasn’t Noah’s favorite person; he wasn’t sure if it was because of his reign of terror during junior year or because he was presently despoiling Noah’s only son. He’d have avoided this whole conversation if he could have, but this was important.

“I would like to see the missing person files for August of 2001.”

Noah’s head slowly listed to the side and then he burst out in laughter. “Why would I let you do that?”

“Because …” Jackson slowly leaned forward. 

“Well?”

“Did Stiles tell you about the Dread Doctors’ novel?”

“This one?” Noah held up the original paperback. “He gave it to me after you guys were done with it.”

“So you know about the memory thing.”

“Yes. It’s supposed to trigger anything that the Doctors had suppressed.”

Jackson didn’t want to look at the cover. “Well, after we read it—”

“Wait a minute.” Noah’s voice went up a few decibels. “Who’s _we_?”

“Uhm.”

“Jackson, did my son read a book that caused Malia to have a hallucination and run out into the street?”

“Yes?”

The sheriff closed his eyes and counted down backwards from ten. “I’ll deal with him later. So … you all read the book.” 

“Yes, we did. And like Malia, I recovered a memory, but I really want to confirm that the memory is real before I act on it. It’s … it’s sort of personal.”

Indecision passed over Noah’s face. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“Stiles told you … uhm … why …” It was never easy to talk about the details of the past. The kanima had been for both of them, and while Jackson had dealt with it, talking the mechanics of things was still difficult for him. 

“He told me that the Bite went wrong because of certain psychological issues which sprang from being adopted.”

Jackson was grateful. That was the kindest way that Noah could have spoken the truth. “The memory I had was from the day my parents told me I was adopted.”

“I remember your father telling me something about that. It must have been difficult.”

“Turns out it might have been more difficult than I thought possible. Yesterday, I figured out why they may have told me on that particular day.” Jackson squirmed in his seat. He hated talking about this, he especially hated talking about these issues with his boyfriend’s father, and he completely hated talking about these issues with the sheriff whose deputies he had murdered. 

“Just spit it out, son. It’s never going to be an easy topic.”

“I remembered being kidnapped by an omega werewolf because of who my biological father was and Talia Hale stopping — and probably killing — that omega.” Jackson spit it out. “I need to find out if the memory was real.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. After a few moments, he shook his head. “I have to ask — why not go to your parents?”

“If the memory is real, then there is a good chance that they’re aware of the supernatural and haven’t told me, which is going to turn the secret I’ve kept from them into a chasm that’s going to be hard to bridge.” Jackson gritted his teeth. “On the other hand, they must have known there was something going on, even if they didn’t know what Talia was. Or, worse yet, it’s not a real memory, and I’ll accuse my parents of something that never happened.”

“So, you want to see if there’s a missing person report for a person that matches your memory.”

“If Talia Hale killed a rogue omega who kidnapped me, she wouldn’t have wanted that body to find its way to the cops because it would draw attention to me.” 

Noah Stilinski sat across from Jackson, staring at him. The internal debate stretched for minutes, until Jackson had to look anywhere but him. 

“I can’t let you just go through them. You’re not a police officer.”

Jackson gritted his teeth. The words ‘neither is Scott’ hovered behind his lips, but instead, he reminded himself that he was dating the sheriff’s son. Picking a fight with Noah was going to cause all sorts of trouble. 

“What I can do is set your down with Officer Rodriguez. He’s been trained as a sketch artist. We’ll get an image of this guy and go through the files for you.”

“And what are you going to tell the officers looking?” 

“Whatever the hell I want,” Noah replied. He hesitated for a moment. “The statute of limitations ran out on attempted abduction, but I can tell them he’s a person of interest in a case I’m working on.”

“Or, you can keep your deputies—”

“No. I’ve cut corners far too often. We’re doing things by the book.”

“Alright. It’s your call.”

“Damn right it is.”

**~*~**

There is a tremor in Kira’s voice, undetectable to almost everyone but those with supernatural hearing when she asks Scott a simple question. “What about me?”

Jackson leaned against his car in the driveway. He had meant to give the couple some alone time, but it had been more difficult than he had imagined. He was worried about both of them. After the disaster at Eichen House, after what he had heard from both Scott and Theo about her talking in Japanese in her sleep, the situation with Kira was a mess. Scott was trying to balance too many plates in the air while pretending he had all the answers. The couple should have some alone time to talk things out.

But Jackson found himself needing to know that those two were all right. The fact that he still didn’t know what his parents knew about the supernatural before he learned it was driving him to distraction. He didn’t need any more surprises.

“Um. Well, you’ll come to the school with us. We’re going to need all the help we can get.” Scott had many skills, including leadership and empathy. Subterfuge was not one of them. Jackson covered his face with his palm.

“Scott, it’s okay.” Kira said this heavily, like she was trying to reassure both Scott and herself in the same breath. “Last time …” She paused. “I don’t think I should be there if I’m going to be a distraction.”

“You’re not … you’re not a distraction.” The problem with being known for earnestness is that it becomes amazingly obvious when you aren’t being earnest.

“You keep doing this, Scott.” Kira sighed in frustration. “You keep saying things and doing things without understanding what they really mean to me. I’m not stupid. You don’t trust me.”

“I trust you!” Any other boy would probably have denied it angrily; Jackson certainly would have. Scott wouldn’t do that, so instead he sounded like he had been punched in the face. 

“You don’t trust all of me.” Kira’s voice was tight. “I’m not mad. I don’t trust all of me either. I think … I think that the most important thing for me right now is to figure out what’s going on with me. I hope my mother can help.”

Scott moved and Kira moved, but Jackson could only hear. “Kira?”

“I’ll see you some time, Scott. Be careful, okay?”

Jackson was blinding himself with the sun when Kira came out of the house. He wouldn’t look at her until she said something to him. He could smell the salt of her tears. 

“Jackson.”

He looked down. She had dashed the tears away, but she was about ten seconds from crying once again. “Yeah? I’d ask how you’re doing, but it’s obvious.”

“You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

“Of course.” He opens up her arms and she steps in for a quick hug. He whispers into your ear. “He loves you, you know.”

Kira nods and then steps out of the hug. “This isn’t about him.”

Jackson gives her the eye.

“It isn’t completely about him. Mostly, though, it’s about me. What’s wrong with me. And I can’t fix that if I’m relying on him to take care of me.”

“There’s nothing wrong—”

“Jackson.” She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know how. You be careful, too.” 

“I will.”

He watched her drive away. They were going to miss her tonight. Kira Yukimura was a high school senior with a good sense of humor, a fair academic record, two loving parents, and a sweet disposition. She was also a damn good swordswoman who could generate and absorb electrical fields, both of which would have been fucking useful against mad scientists who manipulated electromagnetism.

Jackson’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of something large being smashed into something else in the McCall house. Sighing, he followed the walk and entered through the kitchen. 

The McCalls didn’t have a kitchen table anymore.

“What?” Jackson grimaced at Scott. “Did you trip?”

“Shut up.” Scott growled at him.

“Probably not going to happen. What did you expect?”

Scott picked up one part of the table, turned it over in his hands and then let it fall. “I think Kira broke up with me.”

“Do you blame her?”

The alpha gave him a red-eyed glare. 

“You lied to her!”

“I did not!” Scott stammered as he denied it. “I didn’t know what I saw.”

“Bullshit. You were afraid, so you covered your ass.” 

The alpha kicked one of the legs. “Isn’t this the part where you tell me it’s okay to be afraid?”

“No. Because it’s not. It should be, but it isn’t.”

“You don’t understand. What was I supposed to say to Kira? Hey, you know that your fox spirit is bigger and acting by yourself, and you’re speaking Japanese when you don’t know Japanese and every time I touch you I wonder if it’s really you I’m talking to or has the spirit inside you taken complete control?” Scott went into the pantry and got out a broom and a pan. “I couldn’t _tell,_ Jackson.”

Jackson stepped forward and started picking up pieces of wood.

“After Stiles disappeared from the hospital, Ethan, Aiden, and I found him in the school basement. I couldn’t tell it wasn’t Stiles. No one knew him better than me, not even his Dad, and _I couldn’t tell._ The way he spoke, the way he smelled, the way he moved. Until the moment he twisted that sword in me, I had no idea it wasn’t him.”

“Kira’s not—”

“My head knows that.” Scott replied. He didn’t speak as he tried to sweep up the pieces and then threw the dustpan down in disgust. He started picking them up with Jackson. “My heart knows I care about Kira. But my gut. My gut aches every time she comes near me.”

“Why haven’t you gone to Deaton or her parents?”

“I did.”

“What?”

“I told Ken and Noshiko two days ago.” Scott admitted. “I went behind my girlfriend’s back and told her parents about her nearly executing a rogue chimera. I also might have texted them with the chant she’s been saying in her sleep. Of course, Noshiko looked like she wanted to stab me when she worked out that I had been that close to her while she was sleeping. But hey, who cares, according to Theo, she’s been chanting _I am the Messenger of Death!_ ” 

Jackson sat back on his haunches. “What does the mean?”

“I don’t know, I skipped the reading in my Japanese supernatural culture class!” Scott snapped. He rubbed at his face and knelt on the floor and began piling up little pieces of wood. “I have a test Monday in AP Biology.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” 

Scott looked at Jackson in surprise.

“You have to grow up, Scott. You’re going to get me … you’re going to get all of us killed unless you grow up. Tonight. Right now.” Jackson was angry. He was so angry and he wasn’t angry at Scott, but Scott was right in front of him. “And that means that you start by telling the truth to the people who trust you. All of the truth. You gotta stop trying to protect people by hiding things from them because all you’re doing is getting them hurt!”

“What do you mean?”

“We need Kira tonight. Instead of letting her go away, you should have insisted that she come.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Instead of keeping Liam on the sidelines, you need to involve him in everything the pack does.”

Scott tilted his head. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the person telling you that we need you to step up and lead _before_ a problem becomes a crisis. You’re really good when we’re backed in a corner, but I think every one of us would like to not be backed in a corner so very fucking often. That means screw your biology test. That means Liam reads the crazy-making book alongside all of us. That means giving orders even if it hurts people’s feelings.”

“That’s not the type of alpha I want to be. You’re my friends, not my servants.”

Jackson was exasperated. “You can’t have us fight the Doctors while protecting us from the dangers of fighting the Doctors. You want to, and that’s really nice, but it’s also fucking impossible. The Doctors are here, now, and they don’t give two shits about killing people. Do you know what they want?” 

Scott frowned and shook his head. 

“Do you know how to stop them?”

“I see you’re saying, but we have a plan. You, me, Malia, Liam, Lydia and Parrish. That should be enough people.”

Jackson crossed his arms, staring at him across the pile of rubble. 

“All right, have it your way.” Scott made his next statement into a command. “We have enough people, so shut up about Kira. Better?”

Jackson nodded. “Better.” They cleaned the table up before they went to the school.


End file.
